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“The one just off the M5.” He sighed, losing his patience.
“Bloody hell! I’ll be right over. I assume you’d prefer to be tucked away in your room?”
“Yeah, for now. We’ll have dinner here, I’ve got a suite.”
“Oh, um, what name should I ask for?”
“You won’t need a name, just come up.” He gave her the room number and ended the call, then started unpacking his things. Not that he’d be able to stay here long. Someone would work out who he really was and before he knew it, the paps would arrive.
***
“Where’s my British brother gone? What’s with the accent?”
Ruby had turned up half an hour later and hugged him. She’d changed so much since the last time he’d seen her. Lost some weight, and cut off all of her hair. It suited her though; she looked like a younger version of their mother with her tomboy hairstyle.
“Well, you tend to pick it up…and I needed to sound less British to get better parts. I have been living in LA fifteen years.”
“Don’t I know it, and you’re brown as a berry.” She gently prodded him. “Is it fake tan?”
“No.”
“Oh, well, you’ll soon lose that here. It’s turned so cold. So, what brings you home?”
“You.”
A stab of guilt hit him, realising his agent had encouraged him to visit Ruby. It hadn’t come from Steve; hadn’t entered his thoughts initially, as he was still carrying a slight niggle of resentment about his mother’s death. Damn, he was really glad to be here.
“Me?” Ruby said with disbelief.
“Let’s order some food and then we can talk,” Steve said, finding the room service menu. This was going to be tough. He hardly knew her now, but he wanted to get some time back with her. Catch up, talk about things. Mum, even Erica. Could he tell Ruby about Erica?
The room service arrived and Ruby and Steve sat around the small table. Ruby insisted she didn’t want wine, she’d drive home as she needed her car for work the next morning.
“So,” Ruby put her fork down and rested her elbow on the table, “when does your next film start?”
“Starts shooting in three months. Marie will let me know when they send the revised script through.”
“Marie?”
“She’s my personal assistant.”
“Is she pretty?”
“She’s forty-nine and married with two teenage kids.” He looked at her dead pan.
Ruby rolled her eyes. “Okay, so for someone who’s worth a million dollars, you’re looking pretty miserable. What’s up with you?”
“You read the papers, right?”
“Not really – full of tripe most of the time. Quick glimpse at OK or Hello when I’m in the hairdressers, but that’s about it. Oh, and I might catch the front pages of the newspapers before they head up to the rooms. But I don’t like reading stuff about you.” She shrugged.
“I was seeing Erica Kealey. We met filming Perfection.” During the making of the movie a passion had been ignited within them – it hadn’t helped they’d had a lot of love scenes. On and off the set, they couldn’t get enough of one another. Steve had believed Erica was his soul mate.
“The Erica Kealey? Wow! I did see you were going to marry your leading lady and was wondering where my wedding invite was, admittedly.” Ruby scowled.
“Yeah, well, we broke up.” Over a year later, when they’d made wedding plans for next spring – albeit loose ones, then she’d ended it all. She hadn’t even given him a backwards glance.
“When?”
“About two months ago – and now it appears she has a thing for her current leading man.” After their sudden break up, Erica had drifted to another man’s bed. She had moved on easier than Steve.
“Oh.” Ruby patted his knee. “I’m sorry.”
They finished their meal, then headed over to the couch, Steve pouring himself a large scotch. Ruby insisted on an orange juice.
“So, is that what’s bothering you? Erica Kealey? She’s your reason for turning up on my doorstep – sort of.” She gestured to the four-star hotel suite. “Do you still love her?”
“Yes, and no. I had the Hollywood bug, didn’t I? We’re so rich, so independent, we can leave a relationship at a drop of a hat. See it happening all the time.” Steve looked at his sister, and sighed angrily. Perfection had given him millionaire status, but even before that, his income had been increasing nicely over the past few years. From years of struggling, he’d gone to the other end of the scale. “I had hoped I’d be married when success knocked on my door. How am I going to find someone to settle down with now?”
Ruby frowned. “You want to settle down?”
“Yes, of course. Why is it so hard to believe I don’t want to play the field? I want to find love. Real love – like our mum and dad had.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Maybe I’m being stupid—”
“Ha! I didn’t say that.”
Steve scowled at her interruption. She buttoned her lips then sat rock still. “I want to find a woman who wants to get married and have kids. I want a family, like we grew up in. If I fall for an actress, she’s as busy as me, we have no time for one another, and then there’s the added stress of neither of us really committing. I mean it’s so easy to get out of a relationship in Hollywood rather than actually work at it.” He sipped his scotch, and slouched further on the couch, sighing heavily. “I want a marriage where we don’t need to discuss pre-nups.”
“You’d need to do that whether you married Miss Plain Jane or not. Otherwise they could take you to the cleaners.”
“Exactly! If I say who I really am, how do I know someone’s marrying me for me, and not my money? Not the person they see in the press. I need them to fall in love without all that getting in the way.”
Ruby chewed her lip, as if in deep concentration. Steve watched, depression deepening. Telling Ruby hadn’t lightened the weight on his shoulders as he’d hoped, just darkened his thoughts. He realised that he might not ever find the perfect woman. He was destined for a life of one Hollywood romance after another – and oh, how the press would love the gossip. It would be okay, but he was thirty-five now, and ready to settle down. He didn’t want to grow old and lonely. He wanted to find someone he could share his life with, as his mother and father had done.
Maybe Ruby didn’t remember, but their parents had been so in love. To this day, he remembered the tears his mother shed over their father’s grave.
“I’ve got it.” Ruby nudged him, shaking him out of his reverie. “What you need to do is be normal for a while.”
“Normal?”
“Yeah, be normal – like me.”
Steve raised his eyebrows. “You? Normal?”
Ruby scowled and nudged him with her elbow. “You know what I mean. Maybe if you take away your money, and flash looks, you might find someone.”
“But won’t I get recognised?”
“In London maybe, but here in Bristol…You can get a haircut,” she combed her fingers through his Hollywood hair, “lose the designer stubble, maybe we can get you some glasses.” She wiggled her finger at him.
“Like a disguise?” he asked warily.
“Yeah!” Ruby sounded excited, chirping up, almost bouncing off her seat. “Some people are going to say you look like you, but you can deny it. Change your clothes – you can’t wear Armani.”
“Not sure I like that idea.”
“If you want to fit in, and be normal,” she quoted with her fingers, “and want someone to love you for who you are, not what you are, you’re going to need to make some changes. And don’t flash your money around.”
“Hmmm…I’m seeing your point of view here.”
“You’ll need to get a job, because sitting around in a fancy hotel isn’t going to work either.”
“Yeah, I could get a job.” But how? Steve rubbed the stubble on his chin.
Ruby frowned. “Interviews are tough though, everyone will need references.”
“What about where you work, could you get me a job?” He smiled his Hollywood smile, looking her in the eye, knowing the true effect of his blue eyes – it always worked.
“That smile and those eyes don’t work on me. I’m your sister, remember?”
Hmm…He’d forgotten his sister was immune to him trying to get his own way. “But as I’m your brother, you could get me a job?”
Some time ago, he’d received a letter, an update from Ruby. She’d told him about her life and work, how she was happy running a small hotel on the outskirts of Bristol.
Managing meant hiring and firing, right?
She let out a deep breath. “Yes, I could get you a job, I suppose. But it’s only a small hotel; we don’t really need anyone at the moment—”
“I don’t need paying, just get me in so I’m doing something – meeting people, making friends.”
“Sure,” Ruby said, mimicking an American accent with a sly smile.
“Stop doing that!”
“What?” She did it again, drawing out the word in an American accent. A poor American accent, Steve might add.
“I don’t sound like that.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“It’s not funny, Ruby.” He looked at her sternly, giving her the ‘big brother hating being teased by his little sister’ glare.
“I’m sorry, but you sound all American,” she reverted to her Bristol tone, laughing. She nudged him. “So how long can you stay in the UK?”
“Three months – max! I’ve got three months to find the woman of my dreams, then I’m back to Hollywood.”
“Make the most of tonight.” She chinked her glass of orange juice against his tumbler of scotch. “It’s your last night as a Hollywood hunk.”
Chapter 2 (#ue7247201-776d-595b-9703-19c513a70a76)
Steve cupped Erica’s face, his thumb gently rubbing her cheek. Out the corner of his eye, he could see on the horizon the dust rising into the sky. Flores and his men were coming. He shoved the car into drive, and was about to kiss those perfect, ripe lips, when his phone started ringing.
He didn’t have his phone – did he? That wasn’t in the script.
The image of Erica disappeared as he fumbled for his phone on the bedside cabinet.
“Hello,” he said gruffly, his voice not quite woken up.
“Right, I’m coming to get you. I’ve been thinking about this all night. The longer you stay there, the quicker you’ll get found out. And once the press find you, then we can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what?”
“You know! But you can’t stay in the hotel. Someone is bound to blab.”
“Ruby, what time is it?” Steve rubbed his eyes. He was semi-aroused, dreaming of Erica. Luckily, he softened with reality, and his sister’s voice.
“It’s seven a.m. Not that early. I’ve managed to get the day off work, so make the most of it. Get dressed, and get packed, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
She’d hung up before he could argue. Last night, Ruby had left him full of ideas on how he could become normal, and he’d gone to bed, nicely warmed by the scotch inside him, wondering whether he would actually find the woman of his dreams while here in the UK. He’d told Ruby he could stay for three months – maximum. He’d have to return sometime in January. The Oscars were in February – he’d have to be back for those, and then the filming for his new movie would start after. However, his agent, Karl, still expected him back in LA in two weeks’ time…Steve would worry about that later. He’d make sure Marie cleared his diary.
This meant he had until the end of January to find the perfect woman.
But he didn’t want perfect. ‘Perfect’ he could pick up in Hollywood tomorrow. He wanted someone who didn’t have to look immaculate every time she stepped out of her front door, didn’t need to worry about image – at least no more than the next woman did. Erica had been perfect, and look what had happened there. Every day she’d worried about her dress size and what she ate, following a special diet. Dinner in a restaurant had been hard work at times. No, he wanted to find someone ordinary, normal, who he could settle down with. Someone he could love, and who would love him back.
Steve wanted all the things his mum and dad had had. He wasn’t looking at this with rose tinted glasses either. He remembered their arguments, the tough times, more than Ruby would, but they’d always come out the other side, still in love. Dad coming home with flowers to apologise, Mum baking Dad’s favourite lemon drizzle cake. He had fond memories of his mother standing at the sink doing the washing up, soap suds to her elbows and Dad surprising her from behind, kissing and hugging her.
He jumped out of bed and slipped on his clothes. The scruffier he looked, the better. He’d grab a shower at Ruby’s. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and combing a hand through his hair, he looked in the mirror and decided he’d do. Luckily, he hadn’t unpacked much, so he was ready by the time Ruby knocked on his door.
Steve checked out quickly and as discreetly as possible, and was soon dragging his case behind him, out into the grey British rain, towards Ruby’s waiting car. Somehow, after Ruby had thrown some carrier bags of shopping (new shoes and clothes) into the back seats, his luggage fitted into the small trunk – thank heavens he’d packed light.
With the two of them in the car, the front screen misted up quickly. Ruby switched on the blowers and eventually they blew out warm air. Thanks to the typical British weather, he hadn’t seen the sun once since landing at Heathrow. He squashed the thought of missing the LA warmth quickly. This is what he wanted; to come home. He’d just forgotten how miserable the weather could be, he thought, tousling his hair to remove the rainwater. Used to the leg space in limousines, Steve sat cramped in Ruby’s little car – he could almost touch his ears with his knees.
Okay, note to self; for her next birthday buy Ruby a bigger car.
“So, where am I going to stay, if I can’t stay in a hotel?” Steve said, as he adjusted the car seat for some leg room. Instead, the chair tilted, throwing him back. Cursing under his breath, while Ruby giggled, he up-righted himself and worked out the seat eventually.
“You can stay with me.”
He looked at her, surprised, his eyebrows raised.
“Don’t look at me like that. I could change my mind,” Ruby said, taking her eyes off the road for a second.
“I thought maybe I could stay at your hotel.”
Ruby shook her head. “No, it’s too small, we’ll need the rooms. I’m taking a big risk as it is, and I don’t want the staff questioning it. I’ve got a spare room, so you can crash there. It’ll be the safest place for you.”
“Can I shower there, too? You didn’t exactly give me time.”
“Sure, we’ll drop your stuff off, have some breakfast then head for the Mall at Cribbs Causeway – it’s got everything under one roof, even hairdressers.”
