Behind the Scenes Read online

  “They’re nice, hard-working people. They made sure I had shoes on my feet and a lunch in my hand and that I went to school, and for that I’m really grateful. I took that name because it seemed as good as any when I had to settle on one. They didn’t mind, so that was that.”

  Tanya digested that while she finished rinsing. Then she wrapped a towel around his head and nudged him to sit up. Toweling his hair, she looked into his glittering greenish eyes and asked, “What does AJ stand for?”

  “Arrogant jerk, according to you,” he said, grinning.

  “Oh! I didn’t mean that.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Okay, I did. But, you know, you kind of deserved it at the time.”

  He just smiled, so she asked him again. He shrugged. “Adam James, they think.”

  “They think?” Her hands stilled on his head and she stared at him.

  “Keep rubbing; that feels good.” He groaned his pleasure, eyes slipping shut, then said, “There was a note pinned to my blanket. But either I’d drooled all over it or someone spilled something on me at some point. They couldn’t quite make out what it said. Adam James was their best guess.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “It’s not a big deal, Tanya.”

  “Of course it’s a big deal,” she said. How awful not to know for sure what your real name was. She couldn’t imagine it. “Is that your legal name? Adam James?”

  “Nope. AJ.”

  “Then why does Mrs. Peterson act like it’s a state secret?”

  He chuckled as he let her lead him to the styling chair. “Probably because she doesn’t want anyone to know she doesn’t know, either.”

  “Oh, jeez. Admit it, you like the mystique of it.”

  His grin grew even wider. “It didn’t start out that way, but what the hell? They ask me what it means and I tell them AJ and they get a knowing look like I’m too embarrassed to tell them the truth and leave it at that.”

  Tanya took the tail of the towel around his neck and dabbed at a drop of water on his face, then began combing out his hair. “I mean this in the nicest way,” she said and he laughed. “You’re not all that screwed up.”

  “How could anyone take that as anything but a great compliment?” He reached up and grabbed her wrist, stilling the comb. “Listen. I wouldn’t wish growing up in a foster home on anyone, but my experience really wasn’t that bad. If there was anything lacking, I’d say it was any kind of personal attention. But the Landrys didn’t neglect the kids in their home. They just didn’t have the time or the energy or the money to devote to any kind of extras, you know?”

  She nodded dumbly.

  “At the time I looked around and envied other kids and what they had with their folks, but I never knew anything else, so it was kind of a distant feeling of lacking. If that makes any sense.”

  Not in the least. It was still as foreign to her as the Russian alphabet. “I . . . guess so.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, Tanya. There’s really no reason to.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t feel sorry for you at all. I can’t help but feel sorry for the little boy you once were, though. I feel so guilty.”

  “No! Don’t you dare. I think it’s great you have a wonderful, loving family. Every kid deserves one. It just didn’t break that way for me, and wasting time on ‘what ifs’ is pointless.”

  Tanya took out the scissors. “What makes you keep in touch with Maria?”

  “I met her when I stopped over there one day. She wasn’t like me. She’d had a home and a mom who loved her and lavished attention on her. Then her mother died. In the blink of an eye, it was gone. I can live with something I’ve never known. I have a much harder time seeing another child know exactly what she’s missing.”

  Tanya digested it all and AJ seemed content to leave her alone with her thoughts. Though her mind was almost bursting with all of this newfound information, it didn’t stop her from making certain his hair was cut as perfectly as she’d envisioned it from the moment she’d first laid eyes on him.

  She finished trimming his hair, then grabbed the blow-dryer absently. Turning it on low, she ran it through his hair, giving it the shape it needed with her fingers.

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that,” AJ said, pointing up at her hand in its odd movements.

  “You won’t need to. I’m only using this to dry your hair faster, because it’s cold in here and I don’t want to be responsible for you catching pneumonia.”

  “So how do I handle it, then?”

  “It’s wash and wear, Landry. If you want something a little different you can massage a little mousse into your hair and do what you want. But comb it after you towel dry it and comb it again after it’s completely dry and you’re good to . . . what?”

  “What, what?”

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “How do you know that’s not a, ‘thank you very much for the haircut, Ms. Pierce,’ smile?” he asked, in a schoolboy tone.

  “Because I’m not an idiot, and you don’t pull off innocent well.”

  He was quiet for a second, his smile fading. “You called me Landry,” he said as she swung him around to face the mirror. She brought the chair to an abrupt halt, then slowly continued rotating it until they were both looking into the mirror. He showed a decided lack of interest in his new cut. His eyes were glued to her.

  Tanya shook her head, then folded her forearms on the back of his chair and leaned down, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Right now I’m in charge, Landry. I don’t need to bother with the ‘Mr.’ part.”

  “Okay,” he said, still smiling.

  “Other than displaying a certain lack of decorum toward my boss, what’s wrong with calling you Landry?”

  “I’ve just admitted to you—something nobody here knows, by the way—that it’s not my real name.”

  “Of course it’s your real name,” she said softly. “Is it the name on your driver’s license?”

  “Yes.”

  “Social security card?”

  “Yes.”

  “IRS returns?”

  “I’m supposed to file returns with the IRS?”

  She grinned, he grinned, and she looped her arms around his neck, drumming her fingers on his chest. “I don’t really care what your name is, to tell you the truth. That’s as good a one as any.”

  “That’s kind of how I felt about it, too.”

  “It’s pretty much what’s in here,” she said, pointing to his heart, “that counts when you think about it.”

  “Well, some people feel very much defined by their names.”

  She smiled wickedly after a minute. “I do remember thinking when I first met you that your name was too good for a jerk like you.”

  “You did not.”

  “I honestly did. I would have preferred a name I really didn’t like.”

  “That would have made you happier?”

  “Much.”

  He was quiet for a moment, but he still hadn’t bothered to look at his cut. The man didn’t seem to have a vain bone in his body, which, considering, was practically a miracle. And kind of irritating. He could at least admire her handiwork.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said finally. “Just hypothetically?”

  Her irritation vanished. “Sure.”

  She began to straighten, but his hands shot up to stop her. “Please, stay here. Unless you’re uncomfortable.”

  Was he kidding? The heat from his body was warming her chest. And not just temperature-wise. “Not in the least. Ask me what?”

  He hesitated. “Just hypothetically . . .”

  “I got that part already.”

  “And everyone in this scenario is fictitious.”

&n
bsp; “Gotcha.”

  “But I’m going to use you as a pronoun because I want to hear what you would non-fictitiously feel.”

  “Sometime today would be good.”

  “Right. Okay. Let’s say you fell in love with a guy in my situation.”

  “Just hypothetically.”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, I’m with you so far.”

  “You date for a while and decide you really like the arrangement.”

  “The arrangement, right.”

  “So the idea of a future sometime down the road—”

  “Usually where you find futures.”

  “And the two of you bat around the idea that you might like to have kids someday.”

  “How many?”

  “Doesn’t matter. One or twenty. You just wanted to make a crumb-cruncher or two.”

  “I’d hypothetically want at least two. There are drawbacks to being an only.”

  “Fine.”

  “Okay, I’m hypothetically in love and ready to procreate.”

  “Right. Of course, you two would probably want to wait a while first, so you could do a lot of practicing to make sure you got the procreation thing down to a science.”

  “Okay, I’m now hypothetically completely exhausted, but I think I have the system down.”

  “Well, you never stop practicing because . . . well, you wouldn’t want to get rusty at it.”

  It was taking everything in her power not to burst out laughing. The problem was, he looked so sincere. “Of course not,” she said, assuring him all the hypothetical lovemaking he could handle.

  Men.

  The pleased nod he bestowed on her was a killer. “Good. Right. The question is this—”

  “Okay, wait. You’re asking for my honest response to finding myself in this hypothetical situation, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t too hypothetically exhausted to answer you.”

  He shook his head rapidly and looked almost horrified at the possibility. “You’re hypothetically insatiable.”

  “Now you’re back to hypothetical and not real-life response. Which is it?”

  “Given all of those hypotheticals—which isn’t far-fetched, you know . . . I’m not setting up an impossible situation—how would you honestly feel about naming the children?”

  Tanya nearly fell over like a house of cards in a windstorm. “You mean you just spent ten minutes setting up this elaborate hypothetical situation just to see if I’d want a little Goober or Oglethorpe?”

  “You wouldn’t dare stick your kids with those names.”

  “We’re hypotheticalling.”

  “Don’t even hypotheticalize a Goober.”

  “You just turned hypothetical into a verb.”

  “You started it.”

  They both stopped. Finally AJ said, “I think we’re getting away from the point.”

  “Okay. What exactly is the point? It’s like a non sequitur. What do the kids names have to do with anything?”

  “I don’t mean their first names.”

  Tanya frowned at him, and then understanding dawned. “Oh-h-h. You’re wondering if my hypothetical self—”

  “No, your real self in that hypothetical situation.”

  “Okay, if I would object to my kids taking on the last name . . . hmm, let’s just hypothetically use Landry.”

  “Okay.”

  “Why would I object to that, AJ?”

  “Because it’s not real?”

  “Of course it’s real. It’s as real as the man who now owns it.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Okay, let’s clear up a couple of possible sticking points.”

  “Okay.”

  “He didn’t change his name because he’s running away from the law?”

  “No.”

  “And he doesn’t have a new name because he did something awful and is now willing to turn state’s evidence but has to go into the Witness Protection Program to do it but nonetheless bad guys are trying their damnedest to hunt him down?”

  “I think I’ve seen that movie. But no.”

  “And he didn’t take that name because he’s disgustingly vain and didn’t like the one on his actual birth certificate?”

  “He doesn’t have a birth certificate. Well, he does. It’s just not exactly the traditional kind.”

  “How . . . how does he know his birthday?”

  “Doctor’s best guess.”

  This was so not hypothetical, and neither was the way her heart was splintering all over the damn place. Tanya had to take a moment to catch her breath.

  Finally, when she could speak again she said, “The real-life me in that hypothetical situation would want her children to take the name of their father. After all, think about how special that name would be. He got to choose it. How many people can say that?”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. And the bottom line is, that is his real name.”

  AJ’s hand came up and covered hers over his chest. Silence surrounded them. Tanya didn’t have any idea how long they stayed like that.

  When she looked up and met his gaze in the mirror, he wasn’t smiling. But the look on his face wasn’t solemn, either. He seemed to be studying her features, one by one.

  “You haven’t even looked at your hair.”

  “I’d rather look at you.”

  “You’re just buttering me up so I won’t ask for a raise.”

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he said.

  “AJ?”

  “Yes?”

  “This isn’t hypothetical.”

  “What?”

  “It’s completely stupid.”

  “What is it?”

  “I . . . never meant for it to happen.”

  “Well, let’s see if we can fix it.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I love you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  AJ STARED AT Tanya in the mirror. He forced his chair around to face her, his whole body strung tight as a violin. “Now say it to me.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t,” she said, biting her lip.

  He gently shoved her back and stood, holding onto her arms. “Yes, you should. Please.”

  “I love you. I mean, it’s okay. I know it’s dumb.”

  Dumb? No one had ever made him more elated in his life. “Why?”

  “Why do I love you, or why is it dumb?”

  He definitely wanted to know both. “Why is it dumb, Tanya?”

  “Because it happened so fast. Because there’s no future in it—but don’t worry, I already know that, so it’s no big deal. I’m just enjoying the feeling and happy that you’re in my life for now. That’s good enough; really, it is.”

  He shook his head rapidly to clear it, then more slowly in response to her explanation. “That’s not nearly good enough.”

  “Why?”

  “What are you saying? That you want this to be temporary? Short-term?”

  “Not wanting. Being realistic, that’s all.”

  AJ just stared at her, at a loss.

  She sighed. “AJ, we have no long-term future. If we recognize that, neither of us will be constantly dreading the day it’s done.”

  “So you’re saying you love me . . . for now?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “No. I’m pretty sure I’m going to love you forever.”

  “But you don’t expect we could last forever?”

  “I know we can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She gave him another sigh that s
ounded as if she was finding the question rather stupid. “Because you’re Hollywood and I’m not. You’re urban. I’m rural. You’re movie premières. I’m drive-in. You’re concrete. I’m vegetable gardens. You’re—”

  “I’m getting the idea.” Unfortunately.

  “Don’t you see, though? As long as we know that, it doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  Her brow furrowed. “It does?”

  “Yes, it does,” he said, fairly offended. Not offended that she’d get that impression of the way things were. The way Hollywood was portrayed—actually the way it too often was—it was a safe assumption on her part. Safe, but incorrect in his case. “I’m not saying I can predict the future, sweetheart. Who can? But despite what you might think, I find mindless, convenient, temporary relationships distasteful.”

  She pulled out of his grasp. “Oh, come on. I’ve seen all of the trade papers and magazines lying around the studio. You’ve been photographed out on dates at least a dozen times just since I’ve been here. I don’t think there was a repeat in the bunch.”

  “That’s all they were. Dates to events. Not relationships.”

  “Exactly.”

  Crossing his arms, he shifted his weight to one leg and scowled at her. “Just out of curiosity, how many of those women do you think I ended up sleeping with following those events?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Please, take a guess.”

  “Ballpark?”

  “Sure. I don’t know exactly how many dates I’ve had since you got to L.A., but, for argument’s sake, let’s call it a dozen.”

  “Okay.” The wheels in her head chugged for a couple of seconds. “I don’t think you’re completely indiscriminate . . .”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “So I’ll say three.”

  “Uh-huh. And just for argument’s sake, how many of those women do you think would have slept with me if it were up to them?”

  “Oh, all of them.”

  “You’re giving me a lot more credit in the irresistible stud department than I deserve, Tanya. And giving a lot of women less credit for—for lack of a better definition—their opinions of their own self-worth.”

  “I’m not passing judgment.”

  “Yes, you are.”