Chapter 23
MATT
He arrived home early Thursday evening, and as he made his way down the hall to drop off his bag, Dad greeted him from the kitchen.
“Did you mean to say that stuff on Letterman? About Harlow?”
“What do you think?” He changed from jeans to shorts and exchanged his button-down for a T-shirt. “Have you seen Harlow or Granny? Is there any buzz in town?”
“Not that I can tell. Saw Granny this morning and Harlow walking toward the rink this afternoon. How’d your movie meeting go?”
“I don’t remember half of what they said. I’ve not slept since the taping. I called Harlow, Dad. Warned her.” Matt retrieved a cereal bowl and joined Dad at the table.
“That was smart. What’d she say?”
“Nothing. I apologized, and I think she thanked me for the heads-up, but . . . Dad, she told me that stuff about the breakup in confidence.”
The producers not only kept the Harlow segment in the show but also used a clip of it as a teaser during prime time. Wired with guilt, Matt had monitored the news. Checked the newsstands outside his hotel and at the airport, but so far the headline of the day was the USSR’s nuclear testing, Wayne Gretzky breaking the all-time scoring record, a seventh-inning comeback for the Yankees, the upcoming premiere of Beverly Hills Cop II, and a British MP being charged with gross indecency.
Then he saw a daily tabloid headline in the airport newsstand. THE BILLIONAIRE LOCKED OUT THE BEAUTY.
“You have a bunch of messages on the machine.”
“Do I want to hear them?”
“One of these days you’re going to have to figure out what gives you diarrhea of the mouth, Matt. Didn’t you listen to yourself?”
“Yeah, after it was too late. I was trying to defend her, not expose her. I wanted Xander Cole to look like the bad boy, not me. But sitting on the set, I become someone else. Not your son, or Harlow’s friend, or the kid from Sea Blue Beach. I’m Matt Knight, the big-time actor, the entertainer. You’ve seen the great actors or singers who go on a talk show and bore everyone to death. Letterman calls me because I’m entertaining.”
“Then learn to tell your own stories, not other people’s.” Dad poured another bowl of Frosted Flakes. “You’ve got to keep your head about you, Matt. Couldn’t you cut and refilm the show or something? You’d think after Booker—”
“I asked them to delete that segment. Instead they made a promo out of it. I called my publicist the next morning. Woke her up. Asked if she could get ahead of it, call in some favors or something, but she laughed at me. Said the billionaire locking out the beauty was PR gold. Even better if the romance isn’t over. It will be the hottest story. The alliteration alone makes it a headline. The Billionaire, the Beauty, and the Bad Boy.”
“You don’t need a publicist to get in front of this, Matt. It’s already out there. You might want to check in with Harlow before you hit the hay tonight.” Dad added a little more cereal to his bowl of milk. “In other news, Harry’s going around to businesses, offering perks with Murdock, even a break in taxes, if they stand with progress.”
“Taxes? He can’t unilaterally cut taxes.”
“He can within a certain percent. He managed to get that passed in the last two years.”
“He’s a piece of work.” Matt’s spoonful of cereal tasted like cardboard. “Have you seen our signature count? Any more come in while I was gone?”
“I checked this morning. Looks like you have a little over a hundred.” Dad slurped the last of his cereal and carried his bowl to the sink. “Matt, why didn’t you talk about Flight Deck? Or your new movie with Cindy what’s-her-name?”
“I’ve talked about Flight Deck for months on Letterman and every other talk show. The movie with Cindy Canon ... I don’t know. It was a better script to say I was still fired. And the story of me leaving Cindy at a seedy bar is old news. But the Billionaire booting the Beauty? That’s tantalizing. No one knew that story.” Matt shoved his cereal bowl aside and peered at his father. “How evil do I look in all of this?”
“Not evil. Just unwise. Selfish. Maybe a tad foolish.” Dad returned to the table with a microwaved cup of decaf. “Some collateral good might have come from you running your mouth. A couple of newspapers called Granny wanting to do a story on the ‘iconic’ roller-skating rink with connections to the Royal House of Blue. One was the New York Times.”
“Won’t change Harry’s mind, but it might get us more signatures. I’ve been racking my brain to understand why I blabbed about Harlow. I honestly thought I was talking about Xander Cole, not her. I wanted him to get demerits for treating her that way.”
“I suppose in some twisted way, I see your logic.” Dad sipped his coffee. “The messages on the machine for you are reporters wanting to know about our special rink and town. Mostly they want to know about Harlow.”
Matt shoved away from the table. “I’m going to see her. Wish me luck.”
“She’s a good woman. She may not want to talk, but she’ll listen. At least for a second.”
“That’s more than I deserve.”
Jogging toward the rink, Matt fumbled for a fresh apology. But his words only sounded like excuses. He entered the side door into an electric atmosphere. The evening session was far from over. The floor was crowded with skaters, and in the foyer, Granny talked with reporters.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Matt gently tugged on her arm.
“I’m telling these kind folks about the Starlight.” She grabbed his arm and shoved him toward her office. “Will you all excuse us?”
“Matt, Hammel Porter from the Miami Herald. We met on the Flight Deck junket. Is it true Harlow Hayes—”
“No comment.” This from Granny, who had a death grip on Matt’s arm until she closed her office door. “Harlow hid in the back room when the reporters and photographers showed up. Matt, what happened on that show?”
“My big mouth. Stay in here. Don’t talk to any more reporters.” Matt crossed the crowded rink with determination, sensing Immanuel’s gaze on his back. If you’re real, help me out, will you?
“Matt Knight! Hey...”
“Matt Knight, OMG!”
“Lieutenant Striker, can we get a picture?”
Hands grabbed at his T-shirt, his hair, his shorts, but he powered through until he arrived at the blue door marked Private. Four strides in, and he stood at the back room, knocking softly. “H, it’s me. Can we talk? Please.” Matt rested his forehead against the doorframe. “I don’t deserve it, but forgive me. I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”
After a painful, weighty moment, the door swung open with such vigor, he almost toppled over. A pale, exhausted Harlow fired off a couple of visual daggers, then slammed the door shut.
Fair enough. “Harlow, you have every right to be mad. I’m mad at myself. Livid. I don’t know what came over me. I heard myself talking, but it’s like all the words had a mind of their own. That guy, that Matt Knight, wasn’t me. He’s an arrogant windbag. I promise I did not intend to tell your secret. Never, ever.” He gently slapped his hand against the door. “Please open up. I want to apologize to your face. You can slap me, kick me, spit on me.”
The door swung open again. “What good will that do? It’s out there. You can’t take it back.” Her blue eyes blazed. “Worse, you sound like Xander. Do I have something on my forehead that says, Betray Harlow? I’m starting to think my personal agency doesn’t mean anything to anyone. I’m just a pawn.”
“I’m sick about this, Harlow. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat.” Matt eased into the room and shut the door. “I am so, so sorry. And you’re not a pawn.”
“Why didn’t you talk about yourself? There’s plenty of juicy stuff there.”
“Everyone knows my juicy stuff. I mentioned you were in Sea Blue Beach, and Dave asked about you.”
“Tell me, were you drunk? High?”
“No. That was just the actor Matt Knight, entertaining. I should call Dale Cranston. Tell him to come punch me.”
“How about if I punch you?” She gave his arm a sharp jab. “Thanks to you my answering machine is loaded with messages like, ‘Harlow, we had no idea.’ ‘Harlow, how could you let him do you that way?’ ‘Harlow, I thought we were friends. Why didn’t you tell me?’ ‘Harlow, how awful for you.’” She paused and shook her head. “My mother’s message was the best, though. She asked where she went wrong and why didn’t I tell her? ‘Wasn’t I always there for you?’ So on top of being the pity of the world, I’m now guilty for not confiding in my friends and family. But you—” She stabbed him in the chest. “I confided in you. You said it was in the vault. That no one would know.”
“I tried to get the producer to edit it out.” He leaned against the wall.
“By the way, Xander thanks you. He’s telling the press how much he loves me. That the Billionaire treated the Beauty poorly but he’s going to make it up to me.”
“Is that what you want?”
She sank down onto the old, shredded, soft quilt on the bed and brushed a tear from her cheek. “I started to feel at home in Sea Blue Beach, like I’d found my life, not the one belonging to everyone else, and the supermodel Harlow Hayes.” She peered up at him. “Even wondered if you and I might...” She waved off the thought. “Never mind. I’m leaving. Going to Buckhead. I can’t do this on my own. Mom wants to help, and—”
“I’ll help, Harlow.” He knelt next to her. “I know you can’t trust me but... Remember when you brought me the cupcake? In jail? I started to tell you something.”
“We got interrupted.”
“You’re not wrong wondering about you and me. Yet, considering my utter failure with your trust, I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. But one day I’d like to tell you—”
“Matt, we should just call it a day.”
Once again his careless speech wounded a precious thing. “Can you at least forgive me? Please.”
“I’d have felt less betrayed if you told them I was a fat, burger-binging slob who invented the potato-chip spoon for ice cream. Or that when we met in Sea Blue, I was tucked under my steering wheel, eating a slice of pizza.” She smiled softly. “As embarrassed as I am by that, it was a pretty funny scene.”
“You had me the moment I saw you crouching down.” Matt sat next to her on the bed. “Remember Trinity from Biggs?”
“The red light. Second red light, actually.”
“Yours isn’t the first life I’ve ruined.” Matt rose up to sit next to her.
“Aren’t you being a bit dramatic? You’ve not ruined my life. My trust, yes. Not my life.”
“Well, I ruined Booker’s, and he was my best friend. We grew up together. Bodie, the lawyer who got me out of jail, is his older brother. Granny and his Granny Harriet are best friends. When Booker and I got our licenses, we used to sneak out and go drag racing down Highway 20.”
“So that’s a thing with you.”
“Granny gave me a sweet ’70 Cuda when I turned seventeen. Booker, Bodie, and I souped it up with headers, carburetor, intake manifold, mag wheels. No one could beat us. Booker got cocky one night. Ended up smashing the car and breaking his leg. He missed our entire football season.”
“And people worry about girls using too much toilet paper and spending hours on the phone.”
Matt laughed, hoping she listened to his story in the name of forgiveness. “Booker was crazy smart and was up for every scholarship known to man. USC had offered me a full ride to play football, so going into our senior year, we felt like we had it made in the shade. Then Booker got hurt, and Coach benched me a few games for being reckless. Our dads made us watch videos of tragic car wrecks. Once Booker got out of his cast, Grandpa Nickle had him working every Saturday for the rest of the year. Said if he had time to sneak out and drag race, he had time to work. Dad hauled me to work with him. I had three jobs besides football and school.”
“Sounds reasonable.” She cut him a side glance. “So Booker’s sister is mad at you because he missed a football season?”
“Booker was a four-point-oh student. Bs were not acceptable. Cs, devastating. He came skating one night. I was the floor guard, so we chilled and skated, talked. He confessed he was flunking an advanced Calc Two course. I laughed because Booker never failed anything. But he was serious. Really panicked. The wreck had messed with him. I jokingly suggested he should steal the answer key to the fall final. The transom over the gym door never latched, and the math teacher, Ellison, never locked his file cabinet.”
“Ah, I see. He stole the test and you blabbed?”
“He aced the test, and no one was the wiser until my loose lips sank his ship. Let’s just say teenage boys and beer don’t go together. Booker got expelled. No leniency at all. The principal was a hard-nose, old-school, by-the-book kind of guy. No amount of persuasion made him change his mind.
“Booker didn’t graduate. He lost his scholarships. He accused me of blabbing because he’d wrecked my car, but I promise that was not the reason. It was just a bunch of guys drinking cheap beer trying to one-up each other. And I had the story to top all the stories. By Monday morning, it was all over school.
“Booker’s parents made him finish up at night school, but nothing was the same. He planned to go to law school like Bodie. But because I couldn’t keep a secret, because I wanted to entertain the guys, I ruined his life and lost my best friend.”
HARLOW
Harlow felt Matt’s regret in his apology to her. Heard it in his story of Booker Nickle.
“Your friend cheated, Matt, and got found out. You played a part, but he ruined his own life. Xander broke my heart, but I’m the one who ate my way out of a career.”
“Maybe, but that was his cross to bear. I betrayed him. Let him down. Worse, I didn’t really know if he stole the test. He could’ve studied hard and aced it on his own.”
“But the school believed he cheated. Has Booker forgiven you?”
“We’ve only spoken once in fifteen years. And that was eight years ago when he cussed me up one side and down the other. He’s in New Mexico somewhere, I think. He’s sent me a couple of letters the last few years but I can’t bring myself to read them.”
“With a story like that, I almost have to forgive you. Can’t have you bearing the burden of ruining two people’s lives.”
Matt bumped her with his shoulder. “I wish I could take it all back, Harlow.”
“Me too. Not just the Letterman show. But the last two years. I’m not sure why I’m so scared to let people know how Xander treated me. Maybe it’s years of projecting this perfect image of myself. If I confessed what really happened, everyone would pity me, or see me as weak. Ordinary. Yet I’ve loved being ordinary in Sea Blue Beach. Now that my story is out there, I don’t have to hold it in anymore.”
“Xander looks far worse in that scenario than you, Harlow,” Matt said. “So, am I forgiven?”
She peered at him. “Okay, I’ll forgive you. But . . . let’s call it a day. Just leave things as they are right now. We had a few fun weeks, right? We’ll always have the Starlight.”
A knock rattled the door, and Dad’s voice bled through. “Har, kiddo. It’s Mom and Dad.”
“It’s open.” She sighed. “I told them not to come. I can drive home on my own.”
Matt greeted her parents. Dad was gallant and pleasant. Mom not so much. She barely acknowledged him.
“Let’s go, Harlow. Dad parked right outside.”
“I’m driving my car, Mom.”
“Okay, then I’ll ride with you so we can strategize.” Mom glared at Matt. “I’m grateful for one thing. Your big mouth caused my girl to come home. So I’m happy about that.”
There it was again. Mom’s happiness.
Dr. Tagg asked her not to use those words, but Mom had no other channel to tune in. Harlow ignored a sense of unease. She could handle Mom. She was more aware of herself now. More in command of her destiny.
Telling her parents to meet her at 321 Sea Blue Way to get her things, Harlow paused at the door, glancing back at Matt.
“I am grateful for the Starlight. I skated with your granny on Tuesday night.”
“All right, H. I knew you could do it.” His smile touched her. “The Starlight will miss you.”
“Harlow?” Mom called. “I’d like to get on the road soon, make it home before two a.m.”
“I should go.” Harlow picked up her handbag and motioned for the door. “I already said good-bye to Tuesday.” Her tears started to sting. “Good luck with the petition. And tell Spike, and Simon and Nora . . . well, tell them I love them. They accepted me so easily.”
“You’re easy to accept.”
“Harlow Anne,” Mom called. “While I’m still young.”
“She’s a bit of a drama queen.” The longer she lingered, the harder it was to break his gaze. “Bye, Matt.”
“See you, Harlow.”
“Yep, see you too, Matt Knight.” Don’t go. “Thanks for waking me up that morning to run. I’m starting to like it.”
“I hate running,” he said with a laugh. “I just like being in shape more.”
“Okay, I really should—” She gave a small wave, slightly irritated by her thumping heart. Just go already. You’re calling it a day. “Bye, Matt.”
“Bye, HH. Go get ’em.”