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Chapter Seven: Mommy Dearest

Posted on Saturday, 21 May 2005

E. Marlowe Santia

I had to pee like nobody's business when we arrived four hours later but I sure as hell wasn't going until my eyes turned yellow. Steve had me scared of the bathroom.

Steve's parents' house was outside the city, on a hill, with the beginnings of a neighbourhood sprouting up like random dandelions in tasteful browns, whites, and tans. The cars in the driveways were even tasteful and conservative, with Steve's bright blue and white Cooper the only funky alternative. It was clear that the area had been farmland at one time and the house we pulled up to had been a farmhouse, though it looked more like it belonged in a Hitchcock movie.

The effect was so real that I sincerely believed I'd hear the Psycho violins start up when the door opened.

"What does your mom do again?" I asked somewhere around mile 270.

"She doesn't. She's a homemaker."

"Huh. And your dad?"

His hands tightened around the steering wheel. "He owns an engineering firm in the city. Very successful."

Uh-huh. I bought that, I could. Steve had a degree in business management or something like that but gave it up to go back to school for theatre, and that's all anyone knows about his former employment. What Steve didn't say about his father and his father's business made it easy to fill in a few blanks. Naturally I couldn't just go on that observation alone, but I wasn't going to press for more information. I'd have to rely on my old standby: keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. It's worked many, many times before.

"Anything else I need to know?" I continued.

"Uh, sister, Paula. Teacher, primary school. 25, just a little older than you. Sweetest girl you'll ever meet. She's engaged to William, who should be here tonight. Pleasantly bland fellow. Uhm, Karen and Ranae, Sonny's fiancée and daughter, respectively. Karen's a teacher too, but older kids. Ranae is, ah, she's an angel. Such a doll."

"And you dote on her, too, I'll bet. Spoil her rotten."

"Every chance I get."

He grinned at me, and I could see it. Especially from how he played with my younger cousins and did everything they asked, even when they wanted him to watch the same movie over and over again. He probably did the same thing with Ranae.

We pulled into the driveway and parked next to two subdued sedans, one grey and the other beige. I could feel the suffocating air of upper-class suburbia close around me and all I wanted to do was dive back into the car and make a break for London.

Steve looked at me with eyebrows raised and sighed. The doorbell was rung and after a few intense moments I heard footsteps and the scrape of the doorknob turning. I could hear my pulse pounding away in my ears. Why was I so nervous? It wasn't like Steve and I were dating. I was meeting his parents, sure, but he wasn't introducing me as his fiancée or even girlfriend, just his assistant.

The door opened a crack and an unidentifiable eye peeked out. There was a squeal and the door was thrown open and Steve was attacked by a tall, willowy young lady in jeans and a tee shirt-at least I wasn't overdressed.

"Steve!" she squealed, arms around his neck.

"Paula! How're you doing? Oh, I've missed you!" He gave her a healthy squeeze and let go.

"Fine, as always. Who's this?"

And I was noticed. I was immediately self-conscious, feeling incredibly short and fat compared to Paula. I gave a feeble grin, tucked an imaginary strand of hair behind my ear and held out a hand.

"Marlowe. Marlowe Santia. It's nice to meet you."

"Marlowe's my new assistant, and a right pain in the arse."

"Don't let him bully you," Paula said with a roll of her eyes. "Come along inside, it's bitter cold out here. Mum's been waiting all day to see you."

Steve groaned softly and closed his eyes as he stepped through the doorway. Paula took our coats and hung them up, then looped one arm through mine and followed Steve into the house.

"It won't be so bad," she whispered. "Mum doesn't eat people for breakfast. Steve can exaggerate a bit."

"Oh." That was all I could say. Too overwhelmed to think of much else.

"Steve says you like to write. I try a bit, but it's not very good. Piddly little children's stories."

"You'd be surprised what piddly little children's stories get," I said, dazed. How much had Steve told her-them-about me?

"Anyway, I'm sure we'll be great friends," she said with absolute certainty.

"Uncle Steve!"

"Hey!" he said, breaking into a genuine smile, probably the first since we'd gotten into Scotland, as a little girl no older than four or five years old threw herself at him. This had to be Ranae. "How's my girl? Raising hell?"

"Of course!"

He picked her up and carried her the four steps out of the corridor and into the main living area. All my fears were confirmed, the house was stunning and stifling, a showcase. I no more belonged there than Steve did, though my own family was very well-off. The difference between mine and his, mainly, was that we- We didn't- We were real. I hadn't even met his parents yet and I knew just why he had spent so much time being part of my family.

His dad wasn't the problem. Steve's dad was a lot like my uncle Richard, Maggie's dad. He didn't interfere and didn't get involved.

And if Mr. Ian Knight was like Richard Mitchell it only fits that Mrs. Annalise Knight would be like Celia Mitchell, his wife. No. Mrs. Knight makes Auntie Celia look like Betty White.

Anyway, with the exception of Paula, Steve, Ranae and myself, everyone else was in the living room, sitting on perfectly matched sofas, chairs, and loveseats. Karen was the only other one to openly smile when Steve arrived. William simply didn't know what to do.

"Steven!" Mrs. Knight said, standing and offering a stiff, fake smile. "How good of you to come!"

"Wouldn't dream of missing a family dinner," he said. Was I the only one to hear the sarcasm?

"And you brought your ... friend?" she continued, ignoring Steve's tone. My mom wouldn't have done that.

"Yes. Mum, Da, this is Marlowe Santia. She's my assistant and friend."

"Yes, well, a pleasure to meet you, Miss Santia. I'm sure you'd like to freshen up a bit before dinner. The bathroom is down the hall and to the left. Steve will show you."

"Oh, that's not-" Steve looked at me, one eyebrow cocked. You don't say no to Mum, he meant. I didn't want to go into the haunted bathroom! "All right. Thank you."

I closed the door behind me and heard Mrs. Knight tell Steve to take our things to our respective rooms; we would be staying the night, after all, and not in the same room.

The bathroom looked innocent enough, hardly haunted. I had partially been expecting a dark, draughty room with cobwebs in the corners and a steady drip from the faucet. It was nothing like that, all clean and bright, with track lighting, even. Steve had to have been pulling my leg.

So I took care of business as quickly as I could-I didn't want to spend a lot of time in there anyway, haunted or not. It was when I was washing my hands that things started happening.

The drawer moved. I swear to God the drawer moved. Second drawer down on the left, just like Steve said. I squeaked. Loud.

I looked at the drawer and it stopped moving. My heart was racing, a thousand beats a second it felt like, and I tried to dry my hands as calmly as possible, though how one can hardly dry their hands in an agitated manner I don't know.

As soon as I looked away, the drawer started moving again. This time more than before. I started whimpering in the worst way: loud. She was there, the girl, trying to get her hands out of the drawer.

I had to look. I just had to. Maybe if I could open the drawer for her, she could get them and be at peace ... So, nearly hyperventilating, hands shaking, I opened the drawer.

There were the bloodstains, a dark patch of wood, visible under the styling tools. I started panting, tears streaming down my face. Was it over?

In the silence of the bathroom I heard a giggle, then a rattle. A soft, almost inaudible rasp of something being pulled across something else. Something was wrong.

One more deep breath and my nerves were calm. I had a feeling that I'd been had. I pulled the drawer out of the cabinet and peered into the hole, and my suspicions were confirmed. There, back against the wall, was another hole, no larger than a nickel, cut or bored through the plaster. I had a good feeling what was on the other side.

"Are you all right in there?" I heard Paula ask. I hurried to replace the drawer, only to send it crashing to the floor.

"Uh, yeah. One minute."

The door opened anyway and Paula walked in. I was caught.

"Steve told you the bathroom was haunted, didn't he? At least you figured it out right away. It took me a few months. That's his old bedroom on the other side."

"Figures."

"Don't worry. I'm sure you'll figure out how to get him back. I'm still trying. Come on, dinner's almost ready."

The walk back into the living room took me right past Steve's seat. I walloped him good, right in the back of his head. Paula stifled a giggle, sounding like she was choking. Ranae was horrified. Karen's mouth twitched as she suppressed a grin. William ventured a smile but Mrs. Knight was not pleased. Mr. Knight didn't look from behind the newspaper.

I coughed. "Uh. Well, is there anything I can do to help with dinner?"

"No, thank you, dear," Mrs. Knight said. She actually seemed pleasantly surprised with my request.

I watched, mostly, and listened through dinner. It wasn't pretty. When I said that Mrs. Knight makes Auntie Celia look like Betty White, I wasn't kidding. Celia made no bones about her dislike of Maggie's choices; career, lifestyle, husband. Every chance she got she made some snide comment about Brian or asked when she was going to find a better job.

Mrs. Knight was subtle. She didn't ignore Steve, but she didn't exactly shower him with attention. She didn't ask about how rehearsals were going for Othello, she didn't congratulate him for his nomination or offer condolences for losing the Academy Award. In fact, she steered the conversation away from his work whenever it seemed to be veering in that direction. As for the others, though, well. Paula's and Karen's classrooms were discussed. I don't remember what William does for a living, but it was talked about. Me, I was tolerated because I was polite and courteous, and because I asked if I could help out.

Then it was my turn to be examined.

"How did you become involved with Steven, Miss Santia?" Mrs. Knight asked.

"Uh, I, ah, answered a help wanted ad, interviewed, and was hired on the spot. I'd never met him before, but my brother knew him. Knows him."

And what does your brother do again?"

Again? "Well, James is a producer in the music industry, and Scott works with him. Byron is pre-law at University of Michigan, and Austen is there on a football scholarship and studying sports medicine."

"Oh, you have four brothers. My. That must have been an ... experience."

Wow. A good time to be diplomatic. She wanted me to rush to their defence-her tone implied amazement that there were so many of us, and yet the majority were actually making something of our lives.

"It was. It was a bit of a double-edged sword, though. I had to fight for my independence as much as anyone else, if not harder. By the time I was in high school I succeeded."

"And you went on to University?" Not a question, just a fact. "What was your course of study?"

"Um, theatre and speech communication. Means I can talk my way out of just about anything, in any number of convincing accents."

That got a laugh from most of the assembled group, Ranae and Mrs. Knight the two exceptions. I expected the latter, from what I had seen previously.

"And what does your family have to say about that?"

God, lady, not everyone is like you! "Well, I knew going in that finding a job would be difficult, but I was practically guaranteed some kind of job placement. Of course, I think they were expecting me to have some kind of focus, and I didn't, but still. I'm the first one of my immediate family, Mom excluded, to earn a degree. Mom's happy that I chose something that I like doing, and I'm kinda using it now."

I noticed how Steve stayed silent through all of this. He didn't say anything or even look up from his plate, though he kept eating. All in all, he was unreadable and unnaturally subdued. This sort of thing must happen a lot, and as much as I wanted to, I figured it would be futile to try and tell his mom off. It would probably just make things worse.

"Don't mind Mum too much," Paula said later, as she showed me up to her room. "She's terribly medieval in her thinking."

"What did Steve ever do to make her hate him?"

"She doesn't hate him, she just doesn't like the choices he's made. I don't know how much he's told you, but Mum and Dad put him through business school and Dad got him a job at the firm, but things didn't work out. Steve was miserable and left the company. He'd always liked being in the school plays, so he thought he'd go to London and try his hand at acting. The rest I guess you know."

"Yeah. But- Doesn't she want him to be happy?" I asked.

"Of course she does, but Mum has her own ideas of what should make everyone happy. A good, solid, respectable job, a family, a house. Acting is not a respectable job according to my Mum. Moving from place to place prohibits forming any kind of lasting relationship or putting down roots. Steve's just not ready to."

"Really?" I asked. Paula shook her head.

"No. He's not. I don't know if he'll ever really be ready. He just has to find the right girl." There was a note in her voice that suggested something.

"It's not me," I said. "We fight like cats and dogs over the stupidest things."

"You haven't heard the rows William and I have gotten into. But Steve likes you, and that's new."

"I find it hard to believe that Steve could not like anyone."

"True, but not like this. He likes you. And you like him."

I stared at her for a good minute before concentrating on making up my cot. It was hard to tell just what she was after. Was she trying to set us up?

"I will admit to having a crush on him," I said, "But that's normal for any breathing female not related to him. I swear, my gramma probably has a crush on him. Charmed his way right into my family."

"Well, that's Steve for you. For all the scrapes he got into in school, he was never punished for them. Had all the teachers eating out of his hand."

I laughed in spite of myself. "That I'll believe."

We talked for hours about just about everything. It felt good to have another friend in the U.K. More like home.

Steven Knight

Marlowe handled meeting my mother better than I'd thought. There was a bit of apprehension on her part, to be sure, and on mine; I knew Mum didn't like what I was doing with my life, but for all that I wanted her to like Marlowe.

"She's a very ...interesting young lady," Mum said later, after Paula escorted Marlowe upstairs. Dad had all ready retired to his office.

"Is 'interesting' good or bad?"

"That decision has yet to be made. Wherever did you find her?"

"New York, though she's from Michigan. If it's any consolation, Ryan hates her too."

"I never said I hated her," Mum replied, bristling. "It's just that she's-" She fought to find the words.

"A little rough around the edges?" I offered. "Yes, but they'll smooth out. She's still getting used to being here. It's only been a week."

"Very true." She conceded that point, sitting stiffly in the armchair, and acted as though it pained her to say it. "She's a very nice young lady."

Something I could whole-heartedly agree with. "Yes. She is. I have yet to meet a nicer girl. Especially one that'll willingly follow me around doing my every bidding."

And that was too much. I got too specific with talking about my job and any chance of carrying on a civil conversation was dead, at least for the night. She shut down and I sighed.

"Good night, Mum."

I kissed her cheek and went to my room, where William was all ready in his pyjamas and getting into bed. Sonny and I had shared a room up until I was in high school, and there were still two beds there. Karen and Ranae were in the guest room, and Marlowe was in with Paula on a rollaway bed. I didn't think that was particularly right, since Marlowe was the real guest, she should have had the special guest room. But my thoughts held little weight, no more than my words did, so that's how things were.

I pulled Paula aside while Marlowe was in the bathroom.

"Keep her talking until she falls asleep," I said.

"Why?"

"She gets homesick. I haven't seen it happen yet, but I don't want to. Lately we've been working so much getting everything right at home that she hasn't had time to think about it."

She was a bit confused, but agreed. I lay on the bed, listening to William snore, and stared at the ceiling. All up until a loud burst of laughter echoed down the heating vent, and I could hear the girls' conversation as William rolled onto his side and mercifully stopped snoring.

"But you think he's handsome, then?"

"You're his sister! You're not supposed to be asking me these questions."

"I can if I want. Think of it as looking out for my big brother. You're avoiding the question."

Marlowe groaned, and even as she spoke I could hear her smiling. "Yes, he's handsome. One of the best looking men I've ever met. Between him and Gerry Butler I'm surprised Scotland hasn't burned to ash."

"Ooh, don't mention that name around him! Steve hates being compared to Gerry Butler. He's paranoid about it."

"I'll break him of that. Just wait."

I snorted. Paula was right, though, in that I hated being compared to Gerard Butler. I had a shoebox full of clippings, each of which had some comparison to that other actor. It chafed to be continually compared to someone just because he happened to share my nationality and profession. I always felt I'd be two steps behind him...

But there was Marlowe, telling my little sister that she thought I was handsome. Now, I've been told this several times, and have even admitted to it myself, but it meant more to me that Marlowe said it. Maybe I'm just a bit of a schoolboy, but I liked knowing that a pretty girl thought I was handsome.

The rest of their conversation was drowned out when William turned over again and resumed snoring. At least I got to fall asleep knowing that I'd just been given a wonderful compliment, even if I wasn't supposed to know about it.

Nothing could be done to ruin my good mood the next morning. We all went to Mass, even though Marlowe fell asleep halfway through, and from there to breakfast. Once that meal was gotten through, we all parted company, with William and Paula leaving first and then Karen and Ranae heading back into town. Marlowe and I said goodbye, and Marlowe thanked my Mum for inviting her, and we were gone.

"Have you ever driven a manual transmission?"

"Buttercup was a stick, if that's what you're asking."

"Ah, okay then. I want you to drive home."

Her face lit up when I said that. "Really?"

"Sure. You've got to learn how to drive over here, and now's as good a time as any. Just don't hit anything."

"Are you sure? It's been a while since I've driven a stick. I might damage something."

"Nothing that's not fixable. You'll do fine."

Bad idea. Not that Marlowe was a bad driver; naturally there were a few rough starts and stops, but she caught on quick enough. That wasn't the problem.

No. She handled gearshift in such a way that made me uncomfortable. I had to remind myself that she was my assistant and not someone I should think about in that way... It was going to be a long ride home.

"So, what did you think of my Mum?" I asked, and watched as Marlowe's hands tightened around the steering wheel.

"Ah, I'd have to get to know her better before passing any kind of judgement."

"That's very diplomatic. But come on, what was your first impression? You can always change your opinion of her. You did for me."

The question was offered in the wheedling tone I knew would work, as I'd used it several times in the last week when begging for coffee. Without looking away from the road she rolled her eyes (quite a feat, I tell you) and sighed.

"Fine. You remember my Auntie Celia?"

"Yeah."

"Ten times worse."

I barked out a laugh. "She can be. Can also be a right doll, too."

"I'm sure. That's why I said I'd need to get to know her better."

If you want to, girlie... "Hmm. How'd you sleep last night?"

"Fine. I wish I'd brought Quigley, though."

"Well, I'm always available for teddy-bear duty in extreme cases," I said without thinking. Marlowe laughed.

"You've certainly got fuzzy down," she said, her voice high with nervous tension. Her face was pink. "Cute and fuzzy."

"I've heard that before. Where?"

"Probably Lilo and Stitch. It's one of Dylan's favourite movies. Stitch says it."

"Oh, so now I'm a furry blue alien? Jesus Christ, what is the world coming to?" I slouched down in the seat and scowled, then looked at Marlowe. She knew I was joking.

"Would you rather I say you look like Gerry Butler, who is also cute and fuzzy?"

Now the scowl was real. She knew I hated being compared to him and yet there she was, doing it.

"You're not so cute when you look like that. It just makes your face wrinkle more," she said.

"I'm going to shave."

"You're virtually unrecognisable clean-shaven. I like you fuzzy."

"Small comfort, that. Keep your eyes on the road." Actually, that was enough incentive to keep the scruff.

"Don't get in a nasty mood just because I said you looked like Gerry Butler. Of course you're going to draw comparisons. You're both Scottish, in your early 30s, incredibly talented actors with filmographies that span nearly every genre. You both left good jobs to pursue acting, you're both recovering alcoholics, incredibly good-looking and genuinely nice guys. Get over this. You are not Gerry and Gerry is not you. What has he done that you haven't done, generally speaking?"

"Phantom of the Opera. I could've done that. I can sing!"

"Yes, you can. Do you want to do a musical?"

"Not especially. But that's not the point!"

"Then what is? I don't understand this, Steve. You do realise that you have something that he doesn't, right?"

"You?"

She blushed. "Okay, two things. You've got an Oscar nod under your belt."

I stopped for a moment. She was right. Gerard Butler had yet to be nominated for an Academy Award, and he'd been in the business longer than I had. That was a good feeling.

"Now, are you done moping over this? It's a waste of energy."

"For now."

Time passed, and miles, as we drove toward home. I gave Marlowe directions a few times and we got a bit turned around, but it wasn't hard to get back on the right roads.

"Who would you date, if you had the chance?" I asked clear out of the blue.

"What? What brought this on?" Marlowe countered, taking a drink from her water bottle.

"Purely the need for conversation. Just a hypothetical question. Who would you shag, no strings attached, if he (or she) came up to you and asked?"

"For me it'd be a 'he,' she said, ears and neck and cheeks going red as her Oscar dress. "Not that it would actually happen, mind. I'm bound and determined to..."

She trailed off, too embarrassed to continue.

"Bound and determined to what?" She shook her head. "I promise, I won't tease you about it. I won't even mention it ever again. But you can't start something and then break off mid-sentence."

"I've never had a boyfriend. I've never even been kissed, and it's not totally due to lack of candidates. I've got very high standards when it comes to that."

"But that's not what I asked."

"I figured you could infer enough from that." She sighed and hunched over the steering wheel. "I've decided I don't want to have sex until I'm married. Sex just complicates things."

"Oh. Yeah, it does. Sometimes." And here I thought she...wasn't.

"But, to answer your first question..." she thought for a moment, relaxed a bit and gave a wicked smirk. "I'd date Gerry Butler."

"Pull over right now!" I snarled. "You're walking home."

"I thought you were over that!" she squealed as I lunged for the steering wheel. "You're going to kill us both! Calm down, I was only joking."

"That is incredibly mean of you to say."

"I said I was joking. And wasn't it incredibly mean of you to tell me that the bathroom was haunted? You actually had me believing you!"

"You should've seen your face. It was priceless!"

She kept her attention on the road and snorted. "Anyway, I'll change my answer. How does Alan Rickman suit you?"

"He's old enough to be your grandfather! Why him?" I asked, strangely put out that she hadn't chosen me. Did I want her to choose me?

"It's the voice, my dear boy. Velvet in auditory form. So sexy. I'd pay to listen to him read the phone book. He could make the Encyclopaedia interesting."

"You said you'd listen to me read the phone book." I was actually sulking!

"And I would! You can have New York and he can have LA. And Gerry Butler can have Yuba."

I started to get indignant and stopped again. "Yuba?"

"It's a sign in the middle of the road in Northern Michigan. As far as I can tell, anyway. Population, 10, maybe."

"Are you trying to make me feel better?"

"Yeah. Is it working?"

"A bit. A very little bit."

"Then I'll have to try harder. I think there's a coffee shop in the next town. My treat."

I laughed. A good cup of coffee always made me feel better. That and a cigarette, and a good meal ... All of which were found within the hour and we arrived back in London, the both of us in high spirits.

Chapter Eight: And Then There Was Jake

Posted on Tuesday, 7 June 2005

E. Marlowe Santia

I hate Mondays. They always seem to bring bad news. This one was no different.

"Hello?" I hissed, ducking out of the rehearsal hall as quickly as I could.

"Marlowe? This is Carlotta. Carlotta Carmela, from Baumhaus?"

"Oh, yeah, hi! What's up?"

"We've got a bit of a problem. It seems that someone over at the BBC forgot that Northanger Abbey takes place in early spring, so it's been shelved. They're going to try to keep Steve attached, but there's no guarantee. So the Scarlet Pimpernel is being moved up; filming starts June 1st in Toronto. We'll have a new filming schedule faxed to you as soon as we get one, probably in the next few days."

"Wow. You'd think the BBC would've thought of that a bit sooner."

"Yeah, well, someone messed up. Oh, and I have the pleasure of telling you that those two guys Steve 'discovered' have been signed to our company. In fact, Evan Turner is going to be in the Scarlet Pimpernel with Steve. The cheese-puff who was going to be Percy had to drop out and Ryan got him in, so you'll be seeing friendly faces soon enough."

"Wasn't Ioan Gruffud going to be playing Percy? I was looking forward to meeting him." I was only a little disappointed, though, since I knew I'd have plenty of chances to meet him in the future. Hollywood was a small enough community.

"Yeah, him, I think. Welsh boy. Fine piece of man. He's doing another one of those Hornblower movies. And actually, he was supposed to be Tilney in the Northanger project, but dropped out of that for something and Steve got the part."

"He seems to drop out of a lot of things, though, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, he does."

"And you'd wonder what for. Must've really liked that 102 Dalmatians script."

"Yeah." She paused. "Honey, I'd love to keep on this thread, but I've gotta go. Ryan's having a minor coronary. Keep doin' what you're doing, sweetie. You're okay."

And so ended a very surreal conversation. That was a good thing. Carlotta was Ryan's right hand in a lot of things, and her approval was one step away from Ryan's. Maybe things weren't so bad after all.

Friendly faces. Carlotta said I would be seeing friendly faces soon enough. But... Steve was a friendly face. The whole cast of Othello were friendly faces. Most of them, anyway. I saw Paula on occasion, and Sonny. They were friendly faces too. I would be closer to home, and I'd be seeing my friends again. So why wasn't I more excited?

Maggie called just as rehearsal let out.

"Hey, sugar, it's been a while. How's it going?"

"Okay. I'm busier than a one-armed paperhanger."

"That good, huh?"

"Yeah. How're things on your end?"

"Same as ever. Dylan's getting antsy, wants to spend the summer in Ireland, and Liam's offered to take him in."

"Are you really going to send him away for three whole months?"

"Might. Brian wants him to go, and I know it'll be a great opportunity-he'll get to train with Liam's team, and who knows, maybe my baby'll play for the big leagues some day."

"You don't want him to go at all, do you?"

"He's my baby! This'll be the first time he's been away from me since my honeymoon."

"He's growing up, Maggie. He's 12. Mom was sending us off to summer camp when we were 10."

"And you were always sent home within a week. How's that part of life?"

"Too busy to think about it. Honestly, I work till I drop. Steve sometimes has to drag me to bed."

And as soon as I said it I knew how Maggie would respond. 'Prude' would never be a word to describe her.

"Well, now, that's a new development!" She was practically crowing.

"My bed, Maggie. Nothing like that. He's a friend." A friendly face... One that I saw everyday ... Who smiled at me and teased me... just like a brother.

"Uh-huh. How's he doing?"

"Fine. Here, you talk to him."

I don't know the particular intelligence of handing him the phone but I did. They chatted while I checked times for a photo shoot and interview the next day, and after a few minutes Steve tossed the phone back.

"Have you been to see Regan yet?" Maggie asked. "You've been in town for three weeks, and she's been wondering if you ever left New York."

"I'll go tomorrow morning. Steve'll be busy until at least noon."

"This is Regan we're talking about, Marlowe. She doesn't wake up until ten."

"Does she still live above the shop?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'll be fine."

Fangirl Moment Number 5: Tuesday morning. I was waiting for Steve in the lobby area of the apartment building, minding my own business and starting on my first bottle of water for the day.

"Do I look all right?" Steve asked as he thudded down the stairs.

I turned and looked, water bottle at my lips as I swallowed... and choked. He was wearing a long, black wool coat, buttoned shut (making his question rather stupid) around his lean body. Hot dog!

"You need to come with a warning label," I coughed. "Dang. Do you know the effect a long, black coat has on a woman?"

He took the bottle from me and said "Yes, yes I do," before taking a drink. No wonder!

"That's really not fair."

"Neither is taking out your ponytail in front of me. We're even."

He led the way out the door, leaving me to stare after him. What did he mean by that?

Finding Regan's shop was an adventure. It was a good thing I left at nine, after making sure Steve had his coffee and was presentable and was safely at his photo shoot. I got turned around about five times and was incredibly embarrassed to find that Regan lived only four streets down and two over from Steve and me. It was eleven o'clock.

The carved sign outside read "Hot Ink: Tattoos and Piercings, Original Artwork by Regan Davison." One look into the windows and you could see just what you wanted: walls covered in original artwork, comfy sofas and chairs to wait in. Black and white tile on the floors, multi-coloured neon lights on the walls. That was Regan for you.

I found my sorta-cousin in the back room, sitting cross-legged on one of the tattoo chairs, eating a bowl of cereal and clad in non-descript sweats.

"Hi."

"Ooh! Marlowe! Hi!"

I've never seen anyone move so quickly and still not spill whatever he or she was holding. She hugged me with force and still managed to not spill her cornflakes.

"So, how're you doing? Any insider information you can give me? Any good gossip from the wonderful world of a major celebrity?"

"He's not a major celebrity. Not yet, anyway."

"Close enough. Can you at least get us tickets to Othello?"

"I can try."

She realised something and slapped her forehead. "Aw, hell. I'll ask him myself," she said, sitting back down and motioning for me to do the same.

"What? How do you plan to do that?"

"I'll call him."

"How? You're not getting his number from me."

"I have it. I'll call him and say there was a design flaw and he'll have to come back. Ooh! I thought of something to add. There, that's it."

"What are you talking about?" I was confused. "Steve has a tattoo?"

That had to be it. Regan looked at me, some kind of pity in her expression, her head over to one side.

"You mean you don't know about Roxanne? I thought you of all people would know about her. I mean, you live with him."

"You're implying that we share a room."

"Don't you?"

I couldn't be sure if she was serious or not.

"No, we don't. I'm his assistant. I have my own room."

"And you haven't walked in on him in the shower or anything?"

"Nope."

Regan stood again and walked across the room, reaching for a small photo album bound in red leather. The album landed in my lap. "God, you're just like Brian! Unbearably decent. You need someone like Steve to loosen you up. Page four, I think."

My eyebrows raised as I passed three pages of celebrity tattoos, then went even higher when I beheld Steve. Two photos, side by side, one a head shot and the other... his left hip. Regan watched with interest as I studied the picture. It was his left hip, pants down around his knees, revealing a tattoo that was probably the size of my hand.

It was a mermaid, undoubtedly female, as marked by the two red seashells strapped to her unusually modest chest, for a mermaid tattoo. She was sitting on a rock, her bright blue fins flicking at the waves that lapped against her seat. Her wavy dark hair was waving in the wind, a triangular tiara perched on top. She smiled out at the camera, eyes almost twinkling. Above the little birds flying out in the distance (Regan was known for her attention to detail) was the name Roxanne, written in a beautiful script.

"He did say he thought mermaids were sexy," I said.

Regan laughed. "I can't believe you don't know about Roxanne. You're his biggest fan, as far as I know."

"Well, it's not like he's done any nude scenes in his wide and varied career."

"Oh, she's new. Just had her about a year. I would've told you, but I promise every celebrity client I won't tell, unless they want me to. Sign confidentiality papers and everything. You're an exception, now."

"I guess so." My phone rang, 'The Scotsman's Kilt' playing out on my snazzy new phone. I knew exactly who it was. "Hi Steve!"

"Where are you, girlie?"

"Visiting my cousin Regan."

"Oh, well, that's nice. Where can I find you?"

"At Hot Ink, her tattoo parlour."

There was a distinct pause. "Thinking on getting a tattoo, then?"

"Yeah, actually," I said, looking to Regan, who was giggling madly. "I thought maybe a mermaid."

"Really? Would've thought you more the dragon kind of girl." He was uncomfortable! Point gained!

"Nah, I want a mermaid. A curvy little thing, maybe with blue shells and red fins-no, strike that, reverse it. Blue fins and red shells."

Another pause. His eyes were going wide, I knew it! "Sounds...lovely."

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it? I was talking with Regan, and she suggested maybe having her sit on a rock or something. I like that idea. And she can make her look like me, too, with the long dark hair and eyes. Add a little tiara and it'll be perfect."

"Yeah, perfect. Going to name her?" And he had guessed my game... but I could still play!

"I thought ... Roxanne. I always liked that name."

"Of course you would. You know I'll have to kill you now, right?"

"Who am I going to tell? You don't want people to know. I can respect that."

He showed up outside the shop and let himself in. I turned off the phone and beamed up at him, while Regan disappeared, thumping upstairs.

It was an interesting visit and over too soon; Regan had an appointment and Steve had to be at rehearsal. Phone numbers were exchanged and promises made to keep in contact; after all, she and Davy lived all of six blocks away.

"That was Brian's little sister, by the way."

"I could see the resemblance. Don't know how I missed it."

"You are unnaturally distracted. What's up?"

"I want to get a dog."

I stopped walking, and Steve only noticed when he got to the corner and had to stop.

"What brought this on?" I asked.

"Do I need a reason?"

"Well, no, but it would help. A dog's a lot of work, and spending the morning with a...golden retriever ... puppy ... isn't the same as living with one."

"How did you know there was a puppy at the photoshoot?" The look he gave me said he thought I was psychic.

"You're covered in fur. Have you ever had a dog?"

"You've met my mother."

"So that's a no. Now, I'm just going to point out a few things to you that you might not have considered. It's a big responsibility, owning a dog. They need to be walked and played with and cleaned up after. You have to think about food and vet bills and grooming. They need a lot of attention, and you're a busy man. I know I could handle some of it, but only when officially on the job. You'd get the three a.m. walkies, though."

"Duly noted. I still want a dog."

"Okay. Any particular breed?"

"No. Just a dog."

"I guessed as much. Do you want a full-bred dog?"

"Not especially. Just-"

"-A dog. Got it. Any objections to adopting one from a shelter?"

"None whatsoever."

"Okay then. I'll make arrangements to go find you a dog after rehearsal."

He threw his arms around me and swung me around with a giddy giggle. After that Steve had an extra bounce to his step. He got through rehearsals with no problem, nailing every line and acing both his fight routines. Did getting a dog really mean so much to him?

The problem with me going to an animal shelter is that I want to adopt all of them, and that's not the best idea. Like I said earlier, it was painfully easy to manipulate me if there were soft ears and sad eyes involved, and at the shelter there were ears and eyes by the dozen.

And one set of those belonged to Steve, who went straight for the dog enclosure. I lagged behind, looking for the cats. If I had my choice I'd get a cat. They're cleaner and independent and don't chew on everything ... But there weren't any cats at the shelter anyway. That particular shelter only had dogs.

Without cats to occupy me, I found the puppies. There was a litter of eight-week-old Rottweiler puppies, the most adorable balls of fur I'd seen in the last five minutes. A Rott would suit Steve, I thought. A big, tough looking beast but under that is a sweetheart...

I picked up the biggest of the four, a girl temporarily named Lola, and giggled as I went looking for Steve. She nipped at my ear and bathed my face with her little pink tongue. I know my heart had melted.

Steve was way back in the shelter, crouching beside a cage, petting the furball inside. The shelter attendant was standing just off to one side, almost beside herself in her attempt to maintain composure. She was getting a nice view of his assets.

"I think I found a dog."

"Congratulations," he replied, not taking his attention away from whatever was in the kennel.

"Aww, come on, look at her! She's cute and furry. Her name's Lola. Sure, she'll get real big, but look at her! She's so sweet!"

He looked and scratched at her ears, she licked his hand.

"Yeah, she's sweet, but I found the dog I want."

I pouted. He shook his head. I took Lola back to the puppy enclosure.

"Sorry, sweetie, not today. I hope someone nice comes and gets you."

Lola whined as I walked away and the other three joined in. It tugged at my heartstrings as I walked out into the hallway. From his end of the hall I heard Steve mutter something, and before I knew it there as a rush of claws on tile floor. A bundle of bone and fur launched itself at me and I just managed to catch it...

"It" was a dog just a touch smaller than a cocker spaniel, at least outwardly. It weighed little more than Lola had, with most of it's bulk being long, thick, brown, black and white fur. There were two ears, one standing straight up and the other bent, but no tail, and when the dog turned to look at me, one eye was brown and the other sky blue. It licked my face, adding to the puppy slobber I had yet to wipe off.

"What is this?" I asked as the dog wriggled in my arms.

"This," Steve answered with a grin, "Is a dog. I think I'll call him Jake."

I put Jake on the ground, but that didn't keep him down. I've never seen a dog jump as high as he did, enough to clear the tops of the kennels, which topped off at about four feet.

"And this is the one you want?"

"Yeah! Isn't he great?"

They both looked at me, Steve with his hopeful grin and Jake one that almost matched. Jake was trying to wag his non-existent tail and succeeded in making his whole body shake. Were they really looking for my approval?

"Yeah. He's great."

Really, how could I refuse Steve? Jake went home with us and spent his first night curled up on my bed, shaking until I pulled him closer, for once forsaking Quigley in favour of a furball.

Steven Knight

"Is Marlowe too distracting?" Maggie asked, and even over countless miles of space and time I could hear her grinning.

"Just a wee bit. There have been not a few times when I've had to, ah, entertain myself a bit to get back on task."

"And what are you going to do about it?"

"Take a lot of cold showers."

I remembered one day in particular. The bathroom had been converted to a sauna. I hurt from eyelashes to toenails, and nothing sounded better than a hot bath. Thus the sauna; the mirrors were fogged over, a smilie face Marlowe had drawn a week ago showing through the steam. I wanted to laugh but it hurt too much. One week into combat rehearsals, and riding practice on weekends, and I hurt.

One thing I like about my bathroom was that the water either ran ice cold or burning hot. It took a fair bit of finagling to get the temperature just right. Since I wanted the water as hot as it could go, I didn't even bother turning on the cold tap. Every inch of skin tingled as I sank into the tub, which was big enough for me to completely submerge in if I wanted to.

I put my headphones on and started the cd player. Nothing better than a little Mozart. I closed my eyes and let myself completely relax, every ache and pain easing in the scalding water.

I fell asleep and didn't hear the door open, but I felt the breeze creep in. The steam on the mirrors was gone, and the humidity from the air. It had to be an hour later at least, and my bathwater was still piping hot.

Marlowe didn't notice me or the fact that the room was occupied, but I noticed her. Her bathrobe hit just between knee and hip, showing off smooth, shapely legs. Her back was to me still as she untied it, but she turned as she began to shrug it off. I couldn't speak. My mouth was suddenly drier than the Sahara and I wanted nothing more than a cold drink at that moment.

She looked up and the spell was broken. I grabbed a washcloth and covered myself as best I could while she squawked.

"What the hell?!" she cried, jerking her bathrobe around her shoulders and tying it angrily. "You could've said something."

I shook my head, still quite unable to speak. Damn, but she was sexy when she was mad. I swallowed and regained the use of my tongue.

"The door was closed, you could've knocked."

She glared at me and slammed the door behind her. I carefully took the headphones off and set them aside, then unplugged the tub. As the last remnants of my lovely hot bath swirled around my ankles I reached for the cold tap and turned it on, shivering as the icy water hit my body.

Maggie brought me back out of my reverie before I started thinking too much about that bathrobe...

"How's Marlowe doing?"

"Great. I have no complaints."

"I meant is she homesick."

"I think she might be over it. Usually we're going all day, so she's just fallen asleep without a problem."

"Good. I know you'll take care of her."

"I will."

I spoke too soon about Marlowe being over her homesickness. Maybe it had to do with talking to Maggie, or she just couldn't hold it back any more, but that night she lost it.

Somewhere around midnight, just as I was getting ready to crash, that I heard Marlowe sobbing. Her door was closed but I went in anyway, damn that stupid rule, something had made her upset, and I needed to know what.

"Marlowe, what's wrong?"

She was clutching her stuffed pig, practically wrapped around it, and didn't answer me. She was hysterical.

"I wanna go home!" she wailed.

I had to remind myself that she wasn't in her right mind, but even so, there was a dull thump in the pit of my stomach. I didn't want her to go!

She screwed her eyes shut, squeezing more tears out, and I climbed into her bed. She'd probably kill me when she realised it, but it was all I knew to do. I pulled her to me and did my best to calm her down. I rubbed her back and stroked her hair, whispered little things, and finally she fell asleep.

I stayed there most of the night, bloody awake while she slept. There was a lot of time to think, but instead I could only concentrate on the woman sleeping in my arms. I didn't want this to happen again, but I didn't want her to go home, either. There had to be a solution out there somewhere...

Her alarm was set to go off at 7 a.m. At 6:30 I carefully, carefully unwrapped myself and left the room, with only one backwards glance. What would I do if she left?

She was fine once she woke and didn't remember anything about the night before. The photoshoot was uneventful, though they had me posing with a dog for half the morning, and I quickly found Marlowe afterward. It was a bit of a nasty trick to pull that on me: I had wanted to keep the tattoo a secret for as long as possible. I honestly didn't realise that Regan Davison was Marlowe's cousin.

"She's very cute, and she does look a little like me. Maybe I could change my name to Roxanne."

"There's no need for that," I sighed. I melted into one of the tattoo chairs, rubbing the bridge of my nose. A headache had started. "How long until we have to be at the rehearsal hall?"

"An hour, about. Tough interview?"

"Not really. Just draining."

Regan reappeared with three cups of coffee.

"You're an angel," I said, accepting the mug with both hands. Marlowe shook her head with a smirk. "I'm not allowed to smoke in here, am I?"

"Not on your life! You light up, I'll start up again, and Davy'll have an asthma attack when he comes home." Regan sat down, making the third point in our little triangle.

"You smoke?"

"Used to. Quit ages ago. Started when I was 16." She looked to me. "Brian started about then, too."

"Why'd you quit? If you don't mind me askin'."

"I met Davy. He's deathly allergic, and I wanted to be with him badly enough that I made myself quit. It wasn't easy, but totally worth it. He's the love of my life. I've never been happier."

"I'm glad for you. I'm trying to quit, but it's murder. It doesn't help with the girlie over here snorting every time I light up."

"Would you rather me say something?" Marlowe said, setting her own mug down. "I think I've been doing very good as far as that's concerned."

I sighed again, as if I were trying to expel the entire contents of my lungs. "Why are you on this crusade?"

She looked at me for a moment, framing her answer as best she could. "Because I don't want to start. There have been times, like when I'm really stressed, that if someone handed me a cigarette I would have started. I've been pressured to start and even had friends offer to tell the offending party to 'Back Off' if ever I found I couldn't. I really don't want to start, and having you around with a cigarette hanging out of your mouth doesn't help."

"It's a different beast, working on a film set. That's why I'm trying to quit now. Once we start working on the Scarlet Pimpernel it'll be insane. But I won't let you start, you have my word."

"Meanwhile," Regan said as she plopped down on a nearby chair, "I've been trying to tell Marlowe that she needs to loosen up a bit more. She's just like Brian before he and Maggie got together, way too decent. Are you going to do anything about that?"

I suppose now is a good time to mention that Maggie and Regan are very good friends.

"About as much as I can. Marlowe seems rather impervious to my charms."

"Oh, yeah. Those charms include drinking from the milk carton and leaving half-eaten cartons of Chinese everywhere."

"Hey, I'm a guy!" I said. Regan echoed the sentiment. "I am a straight, single man of a certain age. If you want show-house perfect, go find a queen to live with."

"Or an anal-retentive linguist. I'm sorry to bust up this fun little whine tasting, but I have an appointment in ten minutes and you need to get to rehearsals."

"What, kicking us out all ready?" I asked. Marlowe started gathering her things.

"Yeah, I've got to get ready. Unlike you two, I work for a living." The last was said with a smirk, which got a weak laugh from Marlowe.

Regan handed Marlowe a business card and made her promise to keep in touch. I didn't mean to be out of sorts, but I was all ready tired and the day wasn't half over yet.

I really did want the dog. And I thought it might help Marlowe, really, to have something else to make her feel at home. She probably missed Keller and Murphy. Though I did have the distinct feeling I would catch hell for it, remembering all the teasing her cousin Brian had gotten when he adopted Keller. That story was one of the first I heard.

So out of the dozens of dogs at the shelter I found Jake, a beast that was part corgi and husky and just about anything else that cared to breed. I just took one look at him and I knew he was the dog for...us.

Then I had to step back and think for a second. This was something we were getting into together. Adopting a dog was going to be like adopting a child, but with much less red tape and money involved. It was a big commitment that Marlowe and I were making. Marlowe and I. Together. I liked that.

"This one's a shelter favourite," the attendant said, bending over and making a point of showing off her assets. "It's a pity, though, that he can't seem to find a permanent home. Too energetic. Likes to jump a lot. That's why we've got the board over his cage."

"I'll take him." The dog, momentarily named Buster, licked my hands as I reached through the grate. He seemed to appreciate it...

The attendant opened the cage and he rushed to me, jumping up onto my knees and licking my face even as I buried my hands in his fur. Yeah, this was my kind of dog. Marlowe left the puppy room again, this time empty-handed, shoulders a trifle slumped. She had liked that puppy, but she'd like Buster, whom I had renamed Jake.

"That's your new mum," I whispered to the dog, "Go get her."

He's a sharp dog and did exactly what I said, and the look on Marlowe's face, once she warmed to the idea of adopting Mutt of the Earth Jake, confirmed it. He was our dog.

He was my dog, as Marlowe reminded me at four a.m. when he needed to go out. And once we returned he went straight back into Marlowe's room. Part of me was concerned that he'd bother her, and another part was insanely jealous.

Chapter Nine: A Fine Mess

Posted on Monday, 27 June 2005

E. Marlowe Santia

Time wore on and homesickness didn't bother me after we adopted Jake. Furball 2, as I called him, was constantly at my side, tailess butt wagging and perfectly well behaved when necessary. It wasn't too bad. I've always liked dogs, and Jake is the sweetest, with possible exception of Keller, that I've ever met.

Tech week loomed, and with it came another stress: Ryan Treyvant. He was coming. To check up on me, I was sure. There was the pretence of investigating new talent, but there was the U.K. branch of Baumhaus, complete with talent agents, so there could really only be one reason he was coming.

He knew I was living with Steve. He didn't know about Jake, though, and was unpleasantly surprised when he dropped by unannounced one night.

"What is that?" he shouted.

I was in the kitchen making pancakes and was absolutely covered in batter. Steve was playing video games and Jake was jumping all over Ryan.

"That's a dog," I replied as I washed my hands. "With springs for legs. Mr. Treyvant, meet Jake. Steve adopted him a couple of weeks ago."

"Wonderful." Ryan can't speak in normal tones, apparently. It's always some kind of snark, grumble, hiss or sneer. "You do realise that the hotel Steve's booked into in Toronto doesn't allow dogs, don't you?"

And all the muscles in my back went tense.

"Then I'll change the reservations."

"You'll have to go through me to do that, Miss Santia, and I have to go through the studio. The rest of the cast and crew is booked there too. Why should Steve get special treatment?"

"Then I'll get my own hotel room and Jake can stay with me."

"You're being paid by the studio now, and that decision has to be cleared by them."

I shut my mouth to keep from commenting. Ryan Treyvant was quickly becoming a person I didn't like. Steve paused his game and came to my "rescue."

"You know as well as me that the studio will bend over backward to get me a different hotel. Hell, why not make it a house? If I'm going to be living anywhere for six months of the bloody year, I want a house. No more of this hotel crap. I don't care what state it's in, I want to live in a house."

Ryan exhaled, eyebrow raised, as he glared at Steve. "And I suppose Miss Santia will be staying with you too?"

"Well, naturally. I don't want Jake to think we split up or something."

A sharp pain started right behind my left eye, so I could only imagine what was going on with Ryan. Telling him off was one thing, but purposely aggravating him was stupid in my book. And childish.

My pancakes were burning, and I had to return to the kitchen while Steve escorted Ryan to the living room area. Like I said before, the apartment itself, with the exception of two bedrooms and bath, is one big open space with maybe a few support posts in strategic areas.

If you were to walk in the door, right in front of you would be one wall of my room. To the right is the kitchen, with a long bar/island kind of thing as the only thing separating it from the rest of the space. To the far right is the bathroom, all done up in shades of royal blue and white tile, very sharp. Steve's room is right across from there, and the rest of the space is divided into living room and office/dining area by a long, low black leather sofa. When picked up and swept, the place was pretty cool.

Normally, however, it was pretty cluttered, what with two and a half bags of laundry to take to the cleaner's, dog toys and bedding (that's a joke, really, since he'd been sleeping in my bed every night since we got him), among other things like coats, scripts, magazines and shoes. Ryan wasn't impressed. I didn't blame him; I wasn't impressed either, but with tech week upon us there simply wasn't time to clean. Steve was lucky I let him play his video games... I had taken mercy on him and took Jake out for 3 a.m. walkies, with the stipulation that it was only for tech week!

Ryan refused my offer of fresh, hot blueberry pancakes and left a little while later. Steve, however, took a stack and doused it with syrup and butter. By that time nearly every muscle in my body had tensed up and I was getting a headache. Several jabs had been made, several criticisms that were totally unwarranted, and I couldn't rightly respond. I wasn't supposed to have heard.

I sat down in one of the chairs and rolled my shoulders to try and ease the tension. The video game had been switched to the late-night news, which I was also ignoring as I tucked into dinner. I must've been incredibly stressed and tired, 'cause all I heard was the soft chink of ceramic on glass as Steve put his plate on the coffee table. I figured he went for juice, but about five seconds later I felt the chair cushions move as he settled on the back.

"What are you doing?" I asked around a mouthful of blueberries and Bisquick.

"Just eat your dinner."

Slowly, gently, he began to knead my shoulders and neck and was met with resistance.

"You know, girlie, you need to handle stress a bit better. I could bounce a coin off your neck as it is!"

"I didn't ask you for a massage," I mumbled.

My pancakes were forgotten, sitting in my lap and getting cold and soggy on the plate as Steve continued to knead the muscles in my neck. I was going warm all over as his hands moved to my shoulders and further down my back.

"Dammit, Marlowe! You're all over knots! Is this all because of Ryan?"

"Mmph."

It was all I could do to get that out. My eyes were crossing, it felt so good. I couldn't remember the last time I had a good backrub, and now I was getting one from one of the hottest men in the movie industry. One with big, strong hands...

"Can I get a bite?" he asked. I don't know how I did it but a mouthful of pancake made it onto my fork. I held it up and felt a slight tug as he took the food but not the fork-his hands never left my back.

"You really need a warning label," I managed. "Steven Knight: Possessing of Numerous Talents, all of which can Render a Woman Speechless."

"Obviously I don't, or you wouldn't be talking right now."

"Point taken."

For the next five minutes I got to enjoy the attention paid me by Steve, and I realised just how much I liked being touched. Usually I'm not much for personal contact, preferring to initiate contact myself if at all, and would normally shy away from someone else touching me.

This, however, was most decidedly different. Yeah, my shoulders jerked a bit when he first started massaging them, but after a second or two I as all over tingles and fully embracing Fangirl Moment Number Six. So much so that I almost didn't see Jake steal Steve's pancakes...

Even so, he was my boss, and a friend! I shouldn't be thinking about him in a romantic sense. He was just helping me out, easing the tension that his agent seemed to enjoy creating. So then why did I like it so much?

There is a good reason why the week before a show goes up is called Hell Week. Steve and I left the apartment at eight in the morning and were lucky if we got out before two. Jake was perfect, sleeping behind my seat if I was lucky enough to be sitting, or sitting beside me in Bea as we ran around London and the English countryside. There wasn't much I could do at the theatre, so I was researching the French Revolution and what, if any, English people sheltered refugee aristos.

It was insane. I didn't know how we were going to make it through six weeks of this, at eight shows a week, and still squeeze in riding lessons and fencing lessons and dialect coaching. At least once production got underway he's have his days more or less free.

Ryan stayed through opening night, hovering just over my shoulder, watching and judging every decision I made. Thankfully he went back to his hotel at a reasonable hour and Steve would take time out of his sleep schedule and massage every knotted muscle later. By opening night, however, I had learned how to manage the stress Ryan inflicted.

I was amazed that Steve was handling this so well, but I reasoned that he was more or less used to it. If he was feeling any stress at all, it was well hidden, and completely obliterated by opening night. In fact, he was walking on cloud nine the whole day.

It all started around noon, when a package was delivered to the apartment rather than to the agency, like most gifts and fan letters. This one was from... Gramma.

"Why is my grandmother sending you a present?"

"I have no idea. Let's open it!"

I handed him a boxcutter and retreated to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He was going to ask for one in five ... four ... three ... two...

"Hey, girlie, how's about some coffee?"

Right on cue. I delivered it, complete with two creams and sugar (midday favourite; early morning it was black; late night cappuccino), and sat down next to him. He had even waited until I was there to cut open the tape.

"Dear word, they know you!" I said.

"This is great!" He pulled out a blue and white coffee mug imprinted with the words "Instant Human: Just Add Coffee."

More things came out of the box. Sanders Hot Fudge ice cream topping. A Motown compilation CD, featuring Aretha Franklin and Stevie Wonder. A Legends tee shirt. Mackinaw Island Fudge. And then, the piece de resistance, a model car. A vintage Ford Mustang in teal blue enamel with real chrome accents.

"My grandpa made that," I said, totally in shock.

Steve stared at it for the longest time, taking in every detail, down to the cloth seatbelts. My grandpa loved classic cars and spent hours making and detailing dozens of models. When he passed, all the grandchildren got to pick one to keep, and there were still several left over. I remember Steve had taken a shine to the teal one, but I never suspected that Gramma would give it to him.

There was a note, too.

Dear Steve,
I just found out that your birthday is in late January. Think of this how you want, a late birthday gift or a present for opening night. Break a leg!
Love,
Gramma Mitchell

I watched him read and reread the letter, completely astonished and awestruck and almost tearing up. This meant a lot to him. If I didn't know firsthand that he received gifts all the time, I would think he'd never gotten a present in his life! Every week I picked up a box of stuff from the U.K. office, had him go through it and write out letters, just little handwritten notes...

He called Gramma right away and thanked her, though I think she was a bit bewildered; it was only about seven a.m. there. After that he was walking on clouds the rest of the day, sobering only when we walked to the theatre.

"What have I gotten into, girlie?"

I stared at him for a while, nearly walking into a lamp post in the process.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what am I doing here?"

"You're walking to the opening night of Othello, a play by Shakespeare that you play a significant part in. I'm not wholly sure why we're walking, since afterward you're going to be exhausted and have dozens of fangirls trailing after you. Ryan will undoubtedly chew me out for not hiring a limo, but I'll live. Maybe I should call a cab to pick us up."

"Don't bother. I think I'd like having you support me on my way home. And I'd like to see you fight through a mass of fangirls."

"Yeah, well, I didn't sign up to be a human crutch and I don't want your fangirls to think I'm an ogre. They don't live with me."

"Aww, she's catching on!" His arm went around my shoulders and squeezed. "You're wonderful."

Ahh. A billion butterflies broke out of their cocoons. Definitely Fangirl Moment Number Seven.

Ryan was waiting in the wings as Steve disappeared into the dressing room. He didn't speak to me, only watched, as I called a cab company for a pickup at midnight. That would give time for the fangirls to get to the backstage door and have five seconds with him before I escorted him into the cab and home.

He watched as I paced on little kitten feet backstage in my blacks, lip balm and water bottle ready for when Steve stepped offstage. His costume was leather and linen and he was losing weight from sweating so much. One night he nearly fainted. I chewed him out royally for that and policed his water intake from that moment on.

I stepped outside during intermission. The door was open, letting in the cool night air and the tempting aroma of cigarette smoke. Everyone knows that smoking in costume is a no-no, but it doesn't really stop anyone, or apply to stagehands. My neck muscles were in knots, tied double and triple times over. This was my first professional show! I was backstage, in London, in the famed West End, during a run of Shakespeare! Caesar would mess himself.

A cigarette had never sounded so good. Steve was out there, cancer stick hanging from his lips. So easy to reach out and take it ... it was only just lit...

He stared at me as I took the cigarette from his mouth and took a drag. I held it for a second and began to cough. Steve let out a disgusted sigh, plucked the cigarette from my fingers and tamped it out on the brick wall. He thumped me a couple of times on the back and handed me the water bottle.

"Yeah, that's something I won't do again," I gasped out.

"And I won't let you," he said. "That's it. I'm telling Ryan to stay away from you. Until he came 'round, you were fine. You're no use at all if you're stressed."

"That's a nice thought. I've just got to get used to him."

"There are some people that you'll never be able to deal with. You just have to tolerate him. He'll be gone soon, anyway, and things'll be back to normal."

"I hope so."

The ASM stuck his head out the door and called the cast and crew back inside. Five minutes to places.

"Break a leg, sweetie," I said, quickly hugging him.

"Thanks, girlie."

Steven Knight

Marlowe makes the best pancakes. Jake knows that too, and since we adopted him I haven't been getting my fair share. And he still slept in her room. I wasn't sure if I was concerned or relieved about that. On one hand, she wasn't getting homesick any more. On the other, he was my dog.

Fanboy Moment Number ... Something. I could kill Ryan for making her so tense, but it afforded me a few minutes of physical contact while I massaged the knots out of her neck and shoulders. I was coming dangerously close to violating the agreement we had and actually wanting to be with her in a non platonic way. Every once in a while I would step back and look at the whole situation. It was a crush, a minor infatuation. I'd had several before, this wasn't different. Besides, she saw me as a brother. No, this would pass quickly enough and we'd be back to normal.

I just wasn't sure I wanted it to. We'd been working and living together for two months now, with only a few altercations so to speak. I'd learned early on to watch what I said about her when I thought she wasn't around.

Two, three weeks in at most and I was feeling good about everything. I was on top of my game, with a dozen scripts arriving nearly every other day, job offers pouring in, meeting with directors and producers on rehearsal breaks and days off. At night there were parties and events to go to. Marlowe was adapting very well, digging her claws in and hanging on for dear life, fielding phone calls and making appointments and predicting almost every move I made and every need I could have.

There was a premiere I had to attend-had to, as a directive came straight from Baumhaus and Ryan that my attendance was mandatory-for a movie that Marlowe was desperate to see. And to royally tick Ryan off, I was taking her as my date. I didn't need to have one, but I'll do anything to make Ryan's blood-pressure spike.

That wasn't the issue. I actually was in danger of more passive-aggressive needling from Marlowe than anything Ryan could deliver, and like most things, this was my fault.

One of the techies called in sick and the director needed someone to run sound for rehearsal. Adrian remembered that Marlowe had experience in technical theatre.

"Hey, couldn't Marlowe do it?" he suggested. "At least until someone else can get here?"

"Who's Marlowe?" Robert, the director, asked.

Marlowe was out getting coffee, or at least I thought she was. As it turned out, she had been back long enough to hear the whole problem.

"Nah, she wouldn't do it. She's just my assistant. She can't run sound."

Of course, my stellar week was the result of all her hard work keeping me organised and on time, and she was tired and stressed. There had been times when I'd overstepped my bounds and asked for things outside of our "On Duty/Off Duty" agreement, but she usually reigned me in with a work or look. Unbeknownst to me, however, I had just pushed her to the end. That week I had never once said "Thank you."

"Can't run sound, huh?" she said from behind me, "Just your assistant, huh? Fine. Get your own damn coffee. I quit."

That was the biggest scene she'd ever made during rehearsals, and Robert finally saw her after three weeks. She turned on her heel and walked out of the hall at a brisk march.

"That was Marlowe," I muttered. Every favour I'd asked, every little thing she'd done came flooding into my consciousness and I started kicking myself. "Bloody hell.. If you'll excuse me, I have some major butt-kissing and dirt-worshipping to do. Hopefully I'll be back soon."

Marlowe was almost down the block by the time I caught up with her. It was drizzly rain out, grey and depressing. And cold! I turned up the collar of my coat and ran after her, skidding on a patch of ice before stopping, panting, in front of a small green grocer's.

"Girlie, I'm sorry," I said between breaths. "I didn't mean it like that."

She didn't answer, just looked in the window to where a Help Wanted sign was propped up against a head of lettuce.

"No, no- Marlowe, no!"

But I was not to be listened to. She went inside and plucked the sign from the window. I followed like the dog I am, tail firmly between my legs.

"I'm sorry, Marlowe. I was stupid and male and... really, really stupid. I wasn't thinking straight."

"Yeah, well, thinking doesn't seem to be one of your main activities," she muttered. She approached the gentleman behind the counter, who was looking at us like we were two nutcases just out of Bedlam. "I'm here to apply."

"What do you want me to do? I can't take something back that's already been said! I said I'm sorry."

She ignored me. "I can start tomorrow, sir. I worked at a department store back in the states for a year in nearly every department. My managers always complimented me on my ability to adapt quickly and service customers in a timely and professional manner."

Part of my mind took "service customers" to a different place entirely, but that juvenile snigger was silenced as she handed in the application.

"You would rather work in a market than be with me? That's taking it a bit extreme, don't you think? Yes, I'm a jerk, I know it. I say stupid things at the wrong time and I need to stop that- I promise, it won't happen again."

She looked at me, then turned back to the shopkeeper. "Well?"

"I'm not getting in between the two of you," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "This is summat you need to work out on your own. I'll discuss your application with me wife and let you know later."

"That's fine."

"Please, please, Marlowe! Don't do this. I'm begging you."

If I really wanted to make her angry and manipulate her, I could have said something like "Don't prove Ryan right," but I didn't even think about that, and she would have killed me out right if I did. I did what any normal, sane person would do when he realised he was far too close to losing a good worker an a good friend: I fell to my knees and begged, pleaded, and made an arse of myself.

"Aw, please, Miss, take him back," the shopkeeper said. "I hate to see a grown man carry on like that."

"Get up, you dork," she said. "You're making a scene. Let this be a lesson to you: never discount my abilities again. Next time it just might stick."

I bowed to her a few times before standing up only to hear my knees pop and creak. The shop had tile floors and I had hit them hard.

As I followed Marlowe out of the shop, the clerk had one last comment.

"Flowers. Whenever I'm on the outs with me wife, I get her flowers. She likes that. Have you tried that?"

"No, but I think I will. Thanks."

Again, Marlowe was almost back to the rehearsal space before I caught up with her, but that was because I stopped at a florists' and grabbed a bunch of roses. Might as well try it.

She got me back for that, albeit unintentionally. Quite by accident, actually, but she knew to take the situation and run with it.

Jake had learned how to open doors and had free reign over the flat by virtue of his being an adorable furball. I had just taken a shower and was in my room, getting dressed, when he opened the door and let himself in. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was that Marlowe and I had agreed that if a bedroom door was open, it was safe to go inside. Only this time I was in the act of pulling up my trousers when I realised that Jake wasn't the only other person in the room with me.

"Oh! Um, sorry. Excuse me! I didn't see anything. I'll be- out there."

Marlowe had walked in and I could only guess what she had seen. I didn't have long to find out. From outside my room I heard her start singing, a bad impression of Sting.

"Roxanne! You don't have to put on that red light. Walk the streets for money, you don't care if it's wrong or if it is right. Rox-anne!"

I had to laugh. The singing wasn't that great, but I knew she was having a good time and that I was forgiven for being an arse.

We went to the premiere and I tried not to mope too much as she mooned over Gerard Butler and Alan Rickman. I also tried to distract myself from the fact that I was actually sulking about that. She was just a friend, she was perfectly capable and within her rights to crush on and swoon over anyone she chose. I wouldn't admit it to myself, but I was still wishing she would swoon over me like that.

I never expected Gramma Mitchell to send me a gift for opening night, and so when it arrived I was speechless. I knew Marlowe was watching me the whole time, she'd been watching me for the last few weeks, fussing over the slightest thing. Yes, I had gotten dehydrated during tech week and was light-headed during the dress rehearsal. Since then she'd been a right mother hen.

The gift was more than I'd received in a long time from someone that I had actually met and spoken with for more than a few minutes. I don't think Marlowe quite understood just how much that present meant to me, how much Gramma Mitchell meant to me. Like I said, I'd never had a grandmother, not one I could really remember, and my current family situation at the time wasn't the most supportive. She didn't know how good she had it, or if she did she didn't let on.

Gramma Mitchell wasn't incredibly lucid when I called and thanked her. I had forgotten that like me she wasn't an early riser, and I suspect that she didn't quite know who she was talking to at the time. Later, when Marlowe and I got back to the flat I called again and we had a lovely conversation.

But first we had to get through the show. I knew Marlowe was keyed up about it, being her first professional show and with Ryan Treyvant breathing down her neck at every turn, but I had no idea how bad it was for her.

I was sneaking a cigarette at intermission, a practice frowned upon in theatre as one clumsy moment could leave a mark in an expensive costume, and Marlowe joined me outside. She sighed, looking around a bit, enjoying the cool night air for a moment or two before we had to go back inside.

She took the cigarette from me and took a drag, then started coughing as only a first-time smoker can. Damn Ryan! I had said I wouldn't let her start smoking, and seeing her take that one drag killed any desire for it myself. I handed her a bottle of water and stamped out the cigarette.

John, the ASM, called me back into the theatre and to places before I could rightly chew her out for even thinking about smoking.

"Break a leg, sweetie," she said, still a bit raspy from the smoke.

"Thanks, girlie." I hugged her tight, trying to be reassuring that things would get better.

"You were fantastic!" she said, bouncing into the dressing room after curtain call. I love it when she bounces like that. Fanboy Moment there, too. "Aww! Man. Loved it! Adrian, you too! The two of you! Ahh! There are no words. !"

"Couldn't very well have done it without you, Marlowe," Adrian said. He took a rose from a bouquet and handed it to her. "Steve never would've gotten his lines down."

"You never know, he could've. Thanks." She broke the flower from the stem and tucked it in her hair. Red glowed against warm brown, making a pretty picture in the soft light. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go see how many fangirls are milling around outside looking for a Kodak moment. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"You're a lucky guy, you know that?" Adrian asked, shrugging out of his bloodstained costume.

"What?"

"Don't be daft. Marlowe. Maybe I should have my agent hire me a pretty young assistant. Must be some good fringe benefits."

"Hey, now, it's nothing like that!"

"I didn't mean it that way. But there's nothing going on between you? Could've fooled me, the way you two carry on. Is she seeing anyone?"

I took my time answering. I didn't like where this was heading. "Not that I know of."

"You think she'd be interested in me?"

"I don't know, you'd have to ask her," I said, snarling a little. Adrian raised an eyebrow and didn't say anything more.

Ryan slipped into the room as Adrian left a few minutes later.

"Congratulations," he said.

"Thanks. I do my best."

"What are your plans for later?"

"Marlowe and I are going to get a bite, then home. Jake's probably going mad."

"You're getting too close to that girl. I think it's high time she found her own apartment."

"How is that possible? I thought being close as friends would help a person be a good assistant. As far as her own place, that's something she and I can discuss later. I don't mind having her live with me. I think it helps me out immensely. We're a team. It's none of your bloody business if she lives with me or not."

"It doesn't look right."

"Screw that! Do you really think I care? As far as I'm concerned, it's not an issue! Leave her alone, all right? You seem to have an amazing ability to stress her out and she can't do her job. You can't harp on her for every little thing and expect her to just shrug it off. She's 23. Lay off."

Ryan nodded, scowling, and changed the subject. Or tried to.

"Joe Walsh is opening in Cannes in May. You're going to be there, correct?" Not a question...

"Yes."

"Will you be meeting Bella there, or will you be arriving together?"

"I'm taking Marlowe. I told her I would, and she'll be ready for a break by then. It'll be a nice vacation for her."

Ryan exhaled through his nose and I could hear him muttering under his breath.

"Bella will be there, though," he said out loud. "It would be in your best interest to play nice and make an appearance together."

"Why? It's not like she's my girlfriend." I pulled a tee shirt on, then jeans and trainers.

"The media seems to think she is. Keep up with Miss Santia and that will change, undoubtedly, and neither of you will be in a favourable light. Bella will be a saint, Miss Santia a home wrecker, and you a man who can't keep it in his pants."

My mood was changing, the euphoria of a good performance wearing off faster the longer he kept talking. My jacket was tugged on, a seam popping in the shoulder. I stalked to the door and stood in the opening.

"Keep this up, Ryan, and I'll be looking for a new manager. You're the one who wanted me to get an assistant. Hire a bloody PR person then, if you're so worried about my image. Now, I've got to get outside and say hi to my fans, without whom I wouldn't be here, as I'm sure you know. Yes, I'll be in Cannes in May. I'll take a few photos with Bella. I'll be in Toronto in June. Unless it's a bloody emergency, though, I don't want to see you for the rest of the run. And stay away from Marlowe!"

I emphasized my point with a slamming door. A deep breath, a smile, and I left the building, stepping outside into the cold April night.

Chapter Ten: Complications

Posted on Thursday, 7 July 2005

E. Marlowe Santia

A grey and rainy Tuesday afternoon and I was freaking out.

"I don't have anything to wear!" I wailed, flopping back onto my bed amid piles of clothing.

"What do you mean, you don't have anything?" Steve walked into my room and looked around. "Just shove some of this stuff into a bag and let's get on with it! We're going to be late to the station."

"The train doesn't leave for another four hours."

"So? It's not like you have time to go shopping now. You can find something once we get there- Girlie, you had better not make me late for this!"

Jake followed Steve in, jumping up on the bed and laying his head on my stomach. I didn't move, just stared up at the ceiling and scratched the dog's ears.

"Dammit, Marlowe, get up and pack."

"I don't have anything nice enough for Cannes! This is the most glamorous festival in the world, and you're asking me to go looking like a slob."

"It's not my fault you didn't go shopping."

"Whose rehearsals have I had to schedule and make sure he got to? Whose interviews have I had to shuttle him to? Whose photo shoots have I had to attend because he doesn't want me to leave? Who can't seem to do anything without me around?"

He looked around for a second. "Jake, you need to let Marlowe have some personal time. Stop being so damn needy."

The dog raised his head with a "What? What'd I do?" expression on his face. Steve took my hands and pulled me to my feet.

"You're fine. This is your vacation. You can look however you want."

"If it's my vacation why am I going with you?"

"Because you asked if you could come and I said sure. And I want you there with me. This is an important week."

"And you want me there."

"Yes. I know it's hard to believe, but I like having you around."

There was that smile, the winning grin that I couldn't resist-and he knew it! Fangirl Moment Number ... Dang, I lost count.

"You are incredibly manipulative. Okay. What should I take?"

He packed for me, folding and stuffing a dozen shirts into a bag, followed by a few pairs of slacks and a skirt or two. Two pairs of all-purpose shoes and a bag of toiletries and I was set.

"Good. Now, it's your turn to help me."

"You're such a dork."

"See why I need you around, though? Hiring an assistant has effectively made me helpless."

"Not my fault. I'm just doing my job."

"And you're doing it well. I have no complaints. Help me pack. Please!"

Jake ran and hid.

The train ride was interminable. We had a four hour layover in Paris before getting on the train to Cannes, and Steve promised we could bum around the City of Lights for a while. I was in seventh heaven!

"What do you mean, you've never had Nutella before?" I asked.

"I mean I've never even heard of it! What is it?"

"The best stuff on earth."

For once I knew something he didn't, and I liked holding it over his head. I'd let him in on the secret as soon as I could, since I knew he'd absolutely love it, knowing his sweet tooth. He also would start bugging me to know what the big secret was, and the last hour of the ride consisted of me telling him to shut up.

The train pulled into the station and we disembarked. Steve had by then forced out of me the confession that Nutella was a foodstuff and so he dragged me to the nearest market.

"So? Where is it?"

"This is driving you absolutely bonkers, isn't it?"

He gave me such a look, I had to grin back at him.

"Wait here." I handed him Jake's leash and went inside.

I took my time, every once in a while glancing out the window to see Steve try to see through the double-sided mirror. Oh, that was fun! I picked up all sorts of things, snacks for the road. Pretzels. Baguette. Strawberries. Bananas. A couple of bottles of water. Gum and breath mints. Disposable camera. A few feminine necessities, including chocolate bars. Then, finally, a jar of Nutella. The big one.

"Well?"

"Patience is a virtue."

"Maybe I don't want to be virtuous!"

"And what are you going to do about it?"

There was a moment, all too fleeting and resulting in what must have been Fangirl Moment Number 73 at least, where I believe he would have kissed me. We stood toe to toe, him looking down at me with the strangest half-smile, me looking up with what I hoped was a challenge. It was suddenly very, very warm and time wanted to stop...

Jake saw a pretty purebred something-or-other and took off, pulling Steve back and shattering the moment.

"Jake! No! Heel. Good boy!" Steve gained control of the mutt, who was unashamed of his tail-chasing.

"Come on, let's go find a place to sit."

I looked around, gaining my bearings (since I was operating on a five year old mental map) and led the way to the Cathedral of Notre Dame and the exact centre of Paris. As I remembered, the courtyard was full of people milling about, taking pictures and buying souvenirs. A couple of mimes were doing their shtick and a handful of artists were sketching portraits along the Seine.

"The perfect place for a religious experience," I said, feeling a bit foolish and blasphemous at the same time.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Trust me on this."

Nutella, by virtue of being a dessert spread, is dark brown in colour and really thick and sticky. If I were to just dip a finger into it without any sort of preamble, I'd probably gross out whoever was nearby. That's why God invented pretzel rods.

"You're absolutely evil," Steve muttered.

"It's a chocolate and hazelnut spread, and it's good on just about anything, with the possible exception of meat and vegetables."

I love watching him squirm. He's done it to me too many times to count, so I've retaliated at every opportunity. Now Nutella was being drizzled onto a fresh strawberry. I held it out, expecting him to take it and feed himself. Instead he leaned forward two inches and ate it straight from my hand. He can make me squirm when I'm trying to do the same to him. So not fair.

"So, what now?" Steve brushed crumbs from his lap and tugged at Jake's leash, bringing Furball 2 back to us on the bench.

"You have energy?"

He had just demolished the better part of a quart of strawberries, half a baguette, two bananas and most of the Nutella. I had kept up, for the most part, and could barely think about moving. I was perfectly content to lounge about the courtyard outside Notre Dame and look at the cathedral, take in the atmosphere and digest. Watch Jake chase pigeons.

"I could run a mile."

"If you didn't stop halfway for a cigarette."

"Hey, now, be nice. So I've had a pack of cigarettes since Othello opened. It's not easy, quitting a habit half a lifetime in the making."

I chose not to reply. He was right; ever since I took his cigarette on opening night, he'd been clean. Mostly. There were moments when I'd caught him, but even then I didn't say anything. I hadn't asked him to quit, he just did it himself.

"You want to climb to the top?"

"Of what? The church?"

"Sure. I didn't get to when I was here last, and I want to see the gargoyles."

"We could just go to my mother's house if you want to see gargoyles."

Another sore spot; Mrs. Knight hadn't come to see a single performance of Othello so far, despite rave reviews in general and for Steve's performance in specific. Iago was quickly becoming my favourite Shakespeare villain, edging out Richard III, but I could have been biased.

"But we're here now, and we don't have enough time to go up to Sacre Coeur. Please?" I pouted and called tears to my eyes, completing the look with a quiver to the lower lip.

"All right," he grumbled. "Come on, then."

He stood up, brushing more crumbs to the ground, which attracted more pigeons, which were chased away by Jake. Such is my life. I packed away the remnants of our snack/meal and made a note to buy more Nutella before we left Paris.

Steve, however, was now impatient and pulled me up. Another Fangirl Moment took me by surprise as he grasped my hands with both of his. I just couldn't speak for a second. And it's not like he's never touched me before, hence the surprise. It passed, quickly, but unnerved me.

The line was mercifully short to climb the countless stairs up to where the gargoyles were. Like the vast majority of historical attractions in Paris, there were no elevators, just hundreds and hundreds of narrow, shallow stone steps.

"Now, aren't you glad you quit smoking?" I puffed, nearly three quarters of the way there. Steve only wheezed.

I didn't want to leave! It had been over five years since I'd been to Paris and I didn't know when I'd ever get back. However, we had a train to catch and an appointment in Cannes. There was a film festival Steve was supposed to make an appearance at, and it wouldn't do to be late.

"Eh, we'll come back, girlie," Steve muttered, checking his phone for messages. "Huh. Maggie called me. Check your phone."

My phone had been off, and when I looked there was indeed a message from Maggie. As I waited for all the little recorded voices to go through their shtick, I wondered at when Steve had given Maggie his cell number. It was only for him, me, and Baumhaus to know, but if he gave it to other people, it was his business. At least it was Maggie and not some random chickie who would give it to all her little air-headed friends. Of course, I'd given her my number, too.

There wasn't more to the message than a "Call me, big news!" so I did.

"We're going to have a baby!" she squealed before I could even say Hi.

"Really?" To Steve, I mouthed, "Maggie's pregnant!"

"Yeah! Due in December. Brian's on cloud nine and I'm right there with him."

"I'm sure! Wow. That was quick. You've only been off for what, three months?"

"I know. All that practice finally paid off."

"More than I wanted to know, Mags. How's Dylan taking the news? Oh, oh, wait, Steve's being a pest- Tell me later!"

Steve took the phone from me, resulting in a swift kick to his shin, which he evaded.

"Congratulations are in order, I hear."

He walked away! With my phone! Jake and I looked at each other and started for the train.

"Marlowe!" There was Lexi, fashionable in a navy and pink suit, hair still a brilliant fuchsia.

"What are you doing here?"

Jake didn't know what to think.

"I'm babysitting Baumhaus' newest acquisition. Seems Ryan Treyvant was impressed with my silk purse sow's ear back at the Oscars and hired me on as a consultant."

"That's great! Good news all around today ... Who're you babysitting?"

"Me."

"Evan!" I launched myself at my friend and hugged him fierce, nearly squeezing the breath out of him.

"Hey, sweetie!"

Steve returned and handed the phone back to me. "Hello, Lexi. Evan. I take it you're joining us?"

I couldn't read Steve's expression. He was suddenly distant and a little wary, which was totally unlike him. As I look back, Evan's arm was still around my waist and that sent the entirely wrong message. At the time, however, it totally confused me.

A flash of long blonde hair caught my attention.

"Bella!" Steve said, distance still there, but now sharing face time with shock and awe.

"Hello, darling! Seems we're sharing a train."

"Yeah."

I hate it when everything happens at once. It always seems that I can't adapt quick enough, so I get upset and cranky. This was happening. People I hadn't seen in four months, one whom I had barely met, were suddenly in a train station in Paris getting ready to leave for Cannes and the glitziest film fest in the industry. Really, it seemed like a bad joke. Three movie stars, an assistant, a drag queen and a dog meet in a train station ... Geez.

Add into that all the relationship dynamics and it was just bizarre. Steve and Bella were sort of dating; Evan had once upon a time asked me to marry him; Steve and I flirted outrageously. Lexi was a snarky observer to all four of us and didn't spare anyone a comment, though he usually waited until he was alone with the erring party. He wasn't one to crucify a person in front of a crowd unless the situation called for it.

Bella commandeered Steve's attention from the get-go, even pulling him away from the rest of us to do so. Something about that bothered me but I couldn't put a name to it.

"Come on, darlings," Lexi said, stepping onto the platform. "Cannes waits for no queen. Get a move on!"

"Care to share a seat with me?" Evan asked. "We've got a bit to catch up on!"

I looked back to Steve and Bella. She laughed at something he said, flicking long hair over one shoulder and showing off perfect white teeth, and he was smiling along with her. He looked happy.

"Sure. If you don't mind the Furball sharing with us. I don't think Bella would care for dog hair all over that designer rag she calls a skirt."

Evan laughed. "God, I've missed you."

He looked down at his shoes, vintage sneakers under khaki Dockers and a blue Western style cowboy shirt. A lock of hair fell into his face and I brushed it away, something I missed doing since Steve got his buzz cut for Othello.

"Me too."

A whistle blew and the announcement was made, in almost every language imaginable, that the train was in final boarding stages and would be leaving on time, thankyouverymuch.

"No more waiting, then," Evan said. "Come on."

I was in for the longest ride in my life.

Steven Knight

I never thought I'd get so excited about going to Paris. I've been a few times for various reasons. One of my girlfriends had an unnatural obsession with the place and insisted on going every time I had a free day. But then she wasn't one for chocolate, which makes her a freak of nature, or at least a rarity, so she never mentioned this wonderful stuff called Nutella.

It's not much to look at but it's one of the best things I've ever tasted. On fruit, on bread, on pretzels. I was sure it would taste good on other things too, though I didn't say as much as I knew she would slap me.

"Where have you been all my life?" I asked the jar.

"On a shelf in a Parisian mini-mart." Marlowe rolled her eyes. "I don't understand how you could never have known about it."

"Stranger things have happened."

"You're telling me. Do you realise that it's been four months we've been working together?"

"Really? That long? Funny, doesn't feel like it."

I stretched out and studied Marlowe as covertly as possible. There were a few breaks in the clouds, letting the sun through. The light caught in her hair and made it shine. I had the sudden urge to touch it, maybe pull her close and kiss her... I fought it with all my might. A Fanboy Moment that came dangerously close to being acted upon. I still believed she thought of me as a brother, at best a pesky friend. It was best for all of us, I thought, to just put the random moments and desires aside and forget about them. Keep the relationship professional. Keep it a friendship.

"So, what now?" I asked.

"You have energy?"

"I could run a mile."

Then followed a dig at my cigarette habit. I had been extremely good about quitting ever since opening night for Othello. I did not want her to start smoking, and as long as I continued there was the risk that she would. Sonny was living with me when I stopped drinking; he dumped all the liquor in the flat down the sink. Marlowe wouldn't take the initiative to destroy all my cigarettes, not since she hid them back in March. She knew I would've gone ballistic. But once she took that drag at Othello I knew I had to stop.

We decided to climb Notre Dame. It's a good thing I'd decided to quit smoking, because I never would've made it. We made it to the top, Marlowe panting and me gasping, but we made it. Then collapsed on a bench, with only Jake seemingly unaffected by the climb.

"Wow. It's beautiful up here," Marlowe said once she caught her breath.

"Yeah. Look over there." I pointed to a bank of clouds. The sun turned them gold as it sank.

"Only here," she murmured. "What I wouldn't give to see this every day."

There was the opportunity to look at her and I took it. She was leaning on a low wall, near one of her gargoyles. I also had the opportunity to comment, but I didn't. No, she meant it, and I found myself wanting to give it to her.

The sun was almost totally set and announcements were being made. It was time for us to leave, or we'd be stuck in the bell tower for the night.

"We have to go," I said, still staring at her. "We'll come back."

With a massive sigh she tore herself away and pouted.

"Come on, we've just got time to get something to eat before we catch the train."

"What is it with you and food?" she asked, smiling finally.

"Hey, I'm a guy. A guy with high metabolism."

She rolled her eyes again and started for the stairway. We were the last ones out, with Marlowe taking her sweet time, and I couldn't grudge her. I didn't have the same appreciation of the city she did, but I could appreciate her feelings on it. Besides, it was her vacation too, and I wanted her to enjoy it.

Maggie called me and left the briefest of messages; "Call me, big news!" She had sounded excited and Marlowe beat me to the punch. When Marlowe told me Maggie was pregnant, I took the phone from her.

"Congratulations are in order, I hear."

"That was rude. I was talking to Marlowe!"

"I'm sorry. Just got excited, that's all."

"For me? How sweet."

"Well, it was either that or call Brian myself. I'm sure he had a hand in it."

"Or something like that," she said.

I laughed.

"So, what's new with you and her?"

"Aside from constant flirting? Nothing. She's not interested."

"Oh. Well, that's... unusual. I'll talk to her later and find out what's up."

"That's not necessary. It's better that we stay friends."

"That's what I thought too. Bye, Steve. Talk to you later."

"Take care. We'll see you later."

Needless to say I was in a sombre mood when I returned to Marlowe's side a few minutes later. Jake sat on my foot and looked up at me, then back to Marlowe. She was standing near Lexi Buchev, which surprised me, but not as much as the other person she was with: Evan Turner.

That wouldn't have been so bad. I had "discovered" him, after all, but his arm was around my assistant's waist in an all too familiar manner. In my current state of mind, that rankled. Marlowe looked happy, however, and I was easily distracted. Bella Nostrada had appeared.

"Bella!"

"Hello, darling. Seems we're sharing a train."

"Yeah."

Bella prattled away for a bit while I mulled over what was going on. She said something about designers and the Scarlet Pimpernel; she was going to be Marguerite to my Chauvelin and Evan's Percy. That had been a major upset, hiring a total unknown for what promised to be the biggest film of the next year.

"And anyway, the stylist totally fried her hair!" she said.

I figured I had to laugh at that, it felt like she had been building up to some sort of punchline. Bella never did have a good sense of timing or delivery.

"Sit with me, love?" Bella asked as we boarded the train. Her attempt at a British accent was terribly fake. I thought maybe to suggest she talk with Marlowe about how to make it more realistic.

Evan was escorting Marlowe and Jake, with Lexi all ready there, so I had little choice.

Four hours into the trip and I was ready to strangle Bella with her hair. She wouldn't leave me alone and insisted on brushing her hair out every five minutes. It was getting late and I could at least make the excuse that I was tired and wanted to sleep. Hopefully she wouldn't try to curl up with me; there really wasn't room on the bench.

"Bella, darling, you are under strict orders to go take a nap. Treyvant has given me authority to boss you around, and I'm exerting it."

"But Lexi!"

"No buts. You need your beauty rest, and once we get to Cannes I know you're not going to want to sleep. Go. Now."

I've never seen a fairy with quite such a commanding presence. Must have something to do with the fuchsia hair. Bella did as she was told, sending me a smouldering look and a pout, but I was unmoved. Unusual.

"You can thank me later," he said as he sank into Bella's now-empty seat. "That woman's a... pain. I'm trying to be nice, seeing as you're involved and all."

"We're not involved, as you put it."

"Good. Now tell that to Treyvant. Hell, tell that to her! All it's been is Steven this and Steven that."

"I don't know why. I haven't seen her since the Oscars."

"Stranger things have happened. I'll have the Baumhaus PR people stop perpetuating that rumour."

I stared. "Since when do you have pull at Baumhaus?"

"Since I was hired, basically. I am an Image Consultant, basically hired to work wonders on our Aussie hick, more talent than taste. What, you didn't know? I'm not surprised. Not many people do. But with the success and notoriety of Hugh Jackman and Russell Crowe, we've decided to play up that bit of his history. Parents moved here when he was ten."

"Bully for him," I muttered.

Lexi took a long pull from a glass of water and studied me. "Why the long face, Stevie? Missing your keeper?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Stop lying to yourself. I know Jake's not the only one Marlowe has on a leash."

"I beg your pardon!"

"Ooh, I've hit a nerve. Finally. Tell me, why doesn't Marlowe have a boyfriend?"

"She's got high standards."

Lexi shook his head. "Besides that."

"I don't know! Half the Othello cast wants to shag her. Last I knew, she and Adrian Murphy were two steps away from dating."

"And he's the only one who's gotten through."

"Gotten through what?"

"You."

I stared. What in the world was he driving at?

"Don't stare, your face'll freeze like that. I can't believe you haven't figured this out yet. No one will go near her because of you."

"I don't understand."

"Think about it, genius. You live together. You fight like an old married couple. You walk home from shows together. From what I understand, all during tech week Marlowe would go home stressed beyond belief and return in the morning fresh as a daisy, all thanks to you. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure something's going on. Most people know that for women, sex is a fantastic stress reliever."

"That's not what happened!"

"So? That's what it looks like, and if this Adrian guy is the only one who knows otherwise, he's not going to tell the others if he wants to get with her."

That explained a lot right there. So that was why Adrian had thought we were together; everyone did. It was only natural, though, that Maggie would be trying to set us up. Marlowe told her everything.

Lexi leaned back in the seat and angled his fedora to cover his eyes.

"Marlowe's a good kid," he said. "If I were you, I wouldn't let her slip through my fingers. Of course, if I were you, I would be going after Evan. But that's just me."

"Go to sleep, Lexi. I've got to use the loo."

"Down the hall to the right. Just past Evan's little room thing."

He didn't have to say anything about Evan's berth, but by doing so he wanted me to have a look in. There was Marlowe, laying back against Turner, looking very comfortable and content. Jake was in her arms, resting his head on her shoulder and fast asleep. Evan saw me in the window and smirked. The bastard! He knew exactly what he was doing and all I could do was kick myself for not acting when I had the chance.

My business was conducted and I was back in my berth. I had to step over Lexi's legs to get to my seat; the man had stretched out and seemed to be dozing.

"Everything come out all right?" he asked, tipping the fedora back to look at me.

"Yeah."

"How was the view?"

"Nothing much to see."

"And here I thought it was your favourite."

"Not really."

"What did you see?" Lexi grew concerned now, seeing that his great plan wasn't going to his specifications. Now was a time to be direct.

"I saw my assistant curled up with Evan Turner."

He sat up and stared. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

"Well it did! What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Go back there and intrude! You're good at that. All she needs is a little encouragement from you. It's all she's really looking for."

"It's not that easy."

"Yes, it is! Why do you think she's only ever flirted with Adrian Murphy? She's smart enough to know when someone's keen on her-"

"Then why hasn't she said as much to me?"

"Because she's still thinking you're not interested in her!"

"You said she knows stuff like that!"

"She does! But she doesn't always see what's right in front of her face, like most people. She's gotten used to you is all."

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. There was no hope, Evan had gotten to her first.

"I know you're her friend. You want the best for her. I do too. Maybe Turner's the better choice."

He looked at me like I had lost my mind.

"And maybe Tom Cruise'll get out of the looney bin! Look. She's never been into him in a romantic sense. She thought he was gay, for heaven's sake, and for a little while I thought so too. I've cured him of that. But she's only ever thought of him as a friend. I know she's had a crush on you for the last year."

"What purpose does that serve?

Lexi shook his head. "Why am I telling you this? You're an intelligent man, one of few, you should be figuring this out on your own." He sighed. "I suppose you're too much like her, can't see what's in front of your face. You know Marlowe's never had a boyfriend. You know her standards are high. From what she's told me alone, I'm amazed there is a single person in the world that could meet them. There are probably more, but she hasn't met everyone, has she? Anyway, I've seen you two together. I've seen the way you look at each other. Trust me on this: tell her. What do you have to lose?"

"If she says no, what then?"

"Don't think like that. It'll become a self-fulfilling prophecy and you're doomed from the start. And if she does, you pick yourself up and move on. Life continues, regardless of rejection. She won't, though, if you act quick enough. She's ready to fall, mate. Be the one to catch her."

It was too late to do anything that night. Marlowe was all ready asleep, and she would be cranky if I woke her up. First thing in the morning...

I didn't sleep that night. I had a lot to think about. I realised that since I had started working and living with Marlowe, my only sleepless nights had been spent worrying about her and what to do about it. We fought, we argued, and more often than not she had the upper hand, even when I was right. Did I give in to her because she was persistent, or because I liked her and wanted her to be happy?

Lexi muttered something in his sleep as I laughed. He had been right; in review, Marlowe and I fought like an old married couple. And we fought as much as we flirted. Of all the moments she had taken my breath away, I could count a dozen or more that could have been much different if I had acted on impulse and kissed her.

The train pulled into the station very early the next morning. I passed Evan's berth and looked in. They were gone. Bella was still sleeping, but Lexi was busily waking her up, flicking water drops on her face. I was glad to see he wasn't coddling her like some did.

I figured Marlowe was waiting for me on the platform, so I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. I didn't make it more than two steps out of the train before stopping dead in my tracks.

"Well, that's not good," Lexi said.

Continued In Next Section