2. A Hero’s Welcome
2
A HERO’S WELCOME
Ford
The Next Day
As I walked through Sewickley’s trendy business district towards my house, my phone rang. “Ford! Why don’t you ever answer the phone?” Sheila’s voice squawked into my ear.
I held my cell phone away until she calmed down. “I could say the same thing to you.” I walked around a rack of trendy clothing on the sidewalk outside the shop entrance. “I left you three messages. The time difference between the Netherlands and Pennsylvania is a pain in the ass. You’re impossible to reach.”
“I guess we both suck at using phones,” she said. Thankfully, Sheila understood the challenges of keeping in touch while maintaining a grueling shooting schedule and didn’t resent my occasional extended silences.
I wanted to take a look around before Kincaid arrived, so I quickened my pace. “How’s your girlfriend?” I asked.
“Who, Deirdre?” Sheila asked. “She’s ancient history. She dumped me when I wouldn’t cast her in my flick. What the hell are you doing in Pennsylvania? If you needed a break, why didn’t you come to Amsterdam? Going home never works. You should know that by now.”
“I thought it was a good time to catch up with my family.” I kept it short, not wanting to give Sheila too much information.
Dad had returned to town earlier today, but strangely, he didn’t want to see me today. First, he didn’t want me to stay with him, and now he was telling me to wait until tomorrow to visit. Was work really so important to him? Despite his request, I decided I was going to stop by later this afternoon. My siblings thought there was something off, and I was beginning to think so too.
Staying with my sister long-term was not a desirable option, as she was already bossing me around as usual. On top of that, her home was currently in chaos due to the ongoing renovations. I needed a quiet place to work, and after meeting Kincaid at my house later, I’d decide whether or not to move my furniture out of storage and stay there for a while.
“Don’t tell me you’re in Sickly right now!” Sheila exclaimed. “Please, tell me it’s not true.”
I grimaced. “You’re butchering my town’s name to irritate me. It’s pronounced Seh-wick-lee. And yes, I’m here.”
“What the hell are you doing there anyway?”
“I want to spend some time with my dad. We’ve been out of touch,” I explained, feeling guilty for not spending time with him sooner. Dad had a heart attack five years ago, and instead of coming home to help out, I had put my work first. Hailey, Sean, and Max had to manage everything on their own. At the time, I was in Norway on a tight shooting schedule, and I’d justified my decision to delay coming back by convincing myself that Max had the business end of things under control, and my presence would only confuse the chain of command at Ross Film Productions. Looking back, I realized that had been selfish. It was long overdue for me to step up. “I feel guilty. I haven’t seen him much these past few years. We’ve both been busy.”
“Going home is the worst,” she said, using her mock voice of doom.
“You sound jaded.”
Sheila sighed so heavily that I could feel her breath move my hair through the phone. “That’s because I am jaded. My last visit home turned into a traumatic nightmare. Dad turned my girlfriend into my ex-girlfriend in the span of five minutes. Why couldn’t I have been born into your family? Your dad is awesome. Not a homophobic bone in his body. Lesbophobic, I should say.”
I let out a huff of laughter. “Dad’s pretty laid back. He rolls with things rather than letting them eat at him.” As a parent, that had not always been the case. He had never been satisfied with the nannies and other caregivers he had hired after Mom died, and I had grown used to coming home to find that he had fired the one I had just started getting attached to.
“I thought your issues with Don tended to focus more on professional boundaries.”
“True,” I said with a laugh. “He had strong opinions about my films.” I dodged a couple of pedestrians as they scurried past me, moving fast. Had my laid-back hometown changed so much? This was strange behavior for a Wednesday afternoon. Everyone should be ambling, not scrambling.
“Had?” Sheila said. “As in past tense?”
“He’s changed since his heart attack.” When I finally glanced up and spotted the enormous bank of dark clouds, I felt like a fool. How could I have forgotten western Pennsylvania’s spring rainstorms? Too many years in Southern California, that’s how.
“What’s wrong? Is he feeling okay?”
As a store clerk bustled out to the sidewalk and shoved a wheeled clothing rack back inside the shop, a large raindrop hit the back of my hand. I glanced up and was rewarded with another one directly in my eye. I rubbed away the droplet. “I’m not sure.” I veered towards the nearest shop entrance to wait out the storm, but the lingerie in the display window changed my mind, so I hurried on down the street. I could just imagine the shopkeeper’s curiosity as I perused a display of lace thongs. No thanks. With my luck, she’d post a video of me on Instagram or TikTok and label me a creeper.
“Is that why you’re really there?” she asked. “To help your dad?”
“I need to reconnect with him and see how he’s doing, but?—“
“But?”
“I need to take a break and avoid the spotlight for a while. Sewickley seems like the perfect place to hide while I read through scripts. I’ve already eliminated seven options, and I’m in the process of narrowing down the rest,” I explained, hoping to avoid the rain as I looked through the large glass window of the next storefront. Unfortunately, it was a hot yoga studio filled with women in athletic wear doing the cat-camel stretch, offering me no refuge. I started jogging down the street, hoping to find a dry spot.
“Aha!” Sheila exclaimed, sounding like an overacting Sherlock Holmes uncovering an important clue. “That explains why you keep calling me. You’re in desperate need of my expert advice and insight when it comes to choosing a script.”
Just then, the sky opened up and dropped everything it had on my head, immediately drenching me. It was time to stop being picky and find a dry spot. I yanked open the very next door, not caring where I was. The door chime jangled in irritation at my rough treatment, and I wiped my face in the crook of my arm. When I looked up, the colorful covers of comic books assailed me from every side, and I let out a groan.
Superman .
Figured.
“Don’t groan at me,” Sheila said peevishly. “It isn’t my fault I’m smart and you’re predictable.”
I rubbed my wet hair and smoothed it back into place. “It isn’t you. I just walked into a store to escape the rainstorm. I’m in a comic book shop, surrounded by pictures of Superman.” I glowered at a Superman poster. “It’s like the guy’s stalking me. Maybe it’s karma bitch-slapping me and telling me I need to make a decision.”
An ash-blonde mom hovered near her equally pale-haired sons. She shot me an annoyed glare and then turned her back. What was her problem?
“Do tell!” Sheila’s voice took on a cultured British inflection.
I grinned at her posh accent. “Are you filming a period piece?”
“Is it obvious? So what if I like to immerse myself in a project? A director should dive in so deep that the mood oozes from her pores.”
“Ooze away.”
She resumed her British accent. “Tell me about your crossroads, my good man. Set the stage. Explain your conundrum to me.”
“With that Sundance win...” I broke off mid-sentence. The mom was still staring at me, but now she looked as though she was trying to place me. Had we been classmates?
It was possible.
It was also possible she recognized me from Entertainment Weekly or Here’s the Scoop . I’d really rather not chitchat with a fan right now.
I turned my back to her and lowered my voice so it wouldn’t carry. “I need to decide how to leverage my situation. Should I keep trying to find a script and produce my own film, or take a shot directing the big-budget action film I’m about to be offered?”
Sheila let out an excited squeal. “ Superman ! I heard McCormick Studios was considering you for the remake. Is it true?”
I glanced down and saw the Man of Steel comic staring back at me from the rack in front of me. I grimaced. “You heard right.”
“And you’re hesitating, because...” She dragged out the word.
I scowled at the caped superhero. “Because Superman has already been done. Too many times.”
“Have you read the script?”
“Not yet, but I’ve heard rumors that McCormick is pushing for an origin story remake,” I said, scanning the nearby display rack with its rows of Superman comics. “It’s frustrating how Hollywood keeps playing it safe and sticking to the same tired superhero stories just for the sake of box office hits. And don’t even get me started on the cookie-cutter writing, complete with the same snarky comments. It seems like studios won’t even consider investing in something original or innovative. There’s a reason superhero origin stories are always so popular. They’re the only ones with any character development.”
“That’s not true,” Sheila chided. “The Marvel franchise has plenty of character development.”
I turned to face the room with its rows upon rows of comics.
“And all the characters sound the same in those movies. What about Batman and Superman? They have excellent origin stories with strong character arcs, but the sequels have never lived up to the originals.”
“The Spider-Man and Marvel crossovers have been great.”
I shook my head. “A fluke. But yeah, that’s Marvel for you.” I let out a frustrated sigh. “I want something unique. Fresh. And the budget to do it right.”
“Fluke? You can’t keep using that word. I don’t think it means what you think it means.”
I chuckled at her Princess Bride reference. “I hear you. But you have to admit that for most superhero movies, the main characters remain fixed. Static. On the rare occasion when a writer is permitted to develop the character, the powers that be end up wiping the slate clean in a sequel with some retcon bullshit. Too much of this comic book junk is garbage.” I made a derisive noise. “Characters need to develop, to change, to overcome some internal issue. Otherwise, they’re flat and boring.”
The pretty cashier behind the counter shot me a fierce scowl. I’d recognize that irritated expression anywhere. Her brunette ponytail with blue tips confirmed it - she was the woman I nearly slammed into at the restaurant last night.
She was even better-looking than I remembered, wearing a different Wonder Woman t-shirt today. Her deep brown eyes and blue-framed eyeglasses looked hella sexy. I had to give the store owner credit for putting someone as beautiful as her at the register. It must lure in comic book nerds in droves...unless she frightened them off with that terrifying frown.
A little brown-and-white dog sat on a cushion next to the counter, watching me intently, its tail unmoving.
I tried my Hollywood grin on her again, but her scowl deepened. Tough room. I needed to work on my charm.
I turned my back on her so I could focus on my conversation, but I must have startled the mom standing nearby because she took a quick step back.
“True, but that’s not necessarily what audiences want,” Sheila pointed out. “They want to see their favorite heroes doing what they do best: saving the world and kicking butt.”
“I know, I know.” I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache coming on. “But I’m not interested in making movies just for the box office. I want to create something that will last, something that will be remembered.”
Sheila gave a dramatic sigh. “Ah, the age-old artist’s dilemma. Fame or art?”
I rolled my eyes.
“What movies are you considering if you’re not doing the Superman thing?” Sheila asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe one of those twisted psychological things. I love killing people. The bloodier, the better.” Something clattered to the floor on the other side of the comic book rack, but I couldn’t see what was happening. A moment later, I heard a whispered conversation.
“But you just did one of those,” Sheila protested.
“That’s why I’m considering McCormick’s offer, but only if I can figure out how to breathe some life back into a dead thing that’s on life-support.”
The bells on the door jingled, and I glanced over to see the mom I’d noticed earlier pushing her two blond-haired sons out into the rain. She paused next to the big plate glass window, and her panicked gaze locked on me. Her eyes widened when they met mine, and she immediately redoubled her speed and disappeared from view.
Had she recognized me? I hoped she wasn’t off to announce it on Facebook or something. Normally, this sort of thing doesn’t bother me, but I was here to get some downtime and be with my family. I’d prefer to avoid any attention.
The cashier came out from behind the counter, her hands clamped to her hips. She stalked toward me, giving me a glimpse of those amazing denim-clad legs I fondly recalled noticing last night. When my eyes traveled up, and I finally met her gaze, I realized the bundle of fury in tight black jeans and red Chucks had murder on her mind.
My murder.
“Sheila, I’m gonna have to go. Something’s come up.” I slid my phone into my pocket.
The shopgirl glared at me, hands on hips and feet spread wide, mirroring the Wonder Woman poster on the wall with the caption “Be the hero of your own life.” Damn, she was hot.
“Really?” she snapped. “ Now you end your call? After driving my customers away in the middle of a rainstorm? Why couldn’t you have done that before walking into my store? Who do you think you are to come in here using foul language and talking about murdering people in front of those kids? Not to mention badmouthing Superman and comic books en masse!”
I recalled my conversation with Sheila and winced inwardly. She was right. I had mentioned murdering someone. No wonder that mom had freaked out. “Sorry about the murder comment. I’m a movie director. I’m not actually plotting any crimes.”
She remained unimpressed. “You drove away my customers.”
My eyebrows shot up as I shoved the Superman comic back onto the display rack. “Did you ever consider they couldn’t find anything worth reading?”
She glared at me, her face reddening. That sound. What was it? It was coming from her . Was she grinding her teeth ?
“Considering those kids spend their entire allowance here every week, I sincerely doubt that’s true,” she said in clipped tones. “It was you. I don’t know if it was your murder comment or the fact that you reinforced their mom’s doubts about letting her sons read comics. It took me weeks to convince her to encourage her kids to read things they found engaging. You might have singlehandedly cost me two regular customers, not to mention depriving those kids of their favorite things to read.”
Chastened, I opened my mouth to apologize?—
“But what the hell. Drive away all my customers. Shut down my store. Why should you care if I go bankrupt?”
I raised my eyebrows as I glanced around the tidy shop, seeing it in a different light. “You own this place?”
Her little dog approached and sniffed my foot. I’m pretty sure my shoe outweighed the little guy. Those enormous upright ears were so big, I was surprised they didn’t make him topple over.
The shop owner visibly bristled. “Why do you find the fact that I own a comic book store so inconceivable?” She crowded forward as she levelled an ice-cold glare. “Is it because I’m a woman?”
I backpedaled, holding up my hands in surrender. “It’s just that you’re so—well—you’re attractive. I tend to associate comic books with?—”
“With what?” she demanded.
I hesitated. “With nerds,” I blurted out. “You don’t strike me as a nerd.”
She attempted a glower of pure annoyance, but a small smile tucked into one cheek as she nudged her glasses back up her nose.
I reconsidered her superhero t-shirt and blue hair. “Well... I suppose you’re slightly nerdy around the edges.”
The little dog sat and stared up at the woman worshipfully, then turned an irritated gaze toward me. Apparently, I was even pissing off small animals.
She held up one hand as if to stop me. “I’m not interested in some pretentious stranger’s assessment of me, my looks, or my nerdiness, so keep your opinions to yourself. And where do you get off judging the entire comic book industry?” She folded her arms. “I bet you haven’t read them since you were a kid. Don’t tromp around my store dissing them if the only way you experience them is through movies.”
She waved her hand around at the books in her store, then realized I wasn’t arguing. She peered at me, seeming to reconsider her abrasive attitude. “Don’t get me wrong, there are some excellent films out there, but too many directors aren’t willing to take a chance on anything new. They keep doing remakes and poorly conceived sequels. Look at yourself, dude.” She emphasized her point with a finger-jab at my chest.
The little dog’s entire body wilted, and he padded back to his pillow. He shot me a reproachful glance before plopping down on his stomach. I considered joining him.
“Theater attendance is at a twenty-year low,” the sexy, blue-haired dynamo continued, not done with me yet. I folded my arms and leaned against a rack, getting comfortable. She was kind of hot when she got all intense like this. All that intelligent, nerdy sexiness was really growing on me.
“On-demand movies are king. Profits for the top studios have dropped by something like forty percent in the past decade. I know my facts. I did market research when I was designing a video game.” She shook her head in mock dismay, but her eyes, her intense brown eyes, drew me in and wouldn’t let me go.
“Face it,” she continued. “The movie industry is in trouble. Your monolithic production companies aren’t keeping up with changes in customer preferences. You people keep giving us warmed-up leftovers instead of creating films that are fresh and new. If I want something original these days, I watch one of the subscription services or play a video game. I rarely find anything original in a movie theater.”
Her words hit harder than I expected, leaving me momentarily speechless. How was she turning all my frustrations with Hollywood back on me? Worse, I couldn’t help but respect it. This woman had just eviscerated me and my entire industry. She had made excellent points too. Wasn’t that what I had just griped about to Sheila?
“What’s wrong?” she asked, lifting her chin in a bring-it-on gesture. Damn, she was sexy with her flushed cheeks and slightly askew ponytail. “You can dish it out, but you can’t take it? If you’re going to walk in here and announce that comic books are drivel, I think I should be allowed to come to your next movie premiere and tell everyone the film industry is dying.”
I closed my mouth with a sharp click. “You’re remarkably opinionated.”
“It isn’t opinion. It’s fact. Go look it up. If you want to be relevant, why don’t you try making something original? What about the Stan Lee comics in the Marvel universe? They’re huge hits because they don’t keep rehashing the same origin story. There are plenty of examples of other comics that were turned into successful films. What about Scott Pilgrim Saves the World ? Men in Black ? Snowpiercer ? Three Hundred ? For the love of god, what about The Walking Dead ? They were all based on comics.”
Had this woman handed me the answer I needed? For some perverse reason, I found myself arguing with her. Maybe it was because I liked what that spark of irritation did to her eyes.
“Not necessarily all of those were successful. Certainly not as successful as Superman.”
“Which Superman ?” Her brown eyes snapped. I’d lay money she was enjoying our argument too. It had been ages since I’d had an intellectual debate about these subjects. I wanted to lean in, but I was afraid she’d back away. I wanted her closer—maybe to keep the argument going, maybe for an entirely different reason.
“There have been at least a dozen Superman movies,” she pointed out. “Check the box office numbers for every single one. Sure, any Superman film will capture die-hard fans, but you won’t convince most people to spend their hard-earned money and precious time watching something old and tired. The movies I mentioned might not have been huge box-office hits when they were first released, but every single one of them had staying power.”
I made a mental note to track down not only the box office numbers but also the gross revenues for the movies she had mentioned. Maybe I should ask my dad. He could reel off the numbers from memory without needing to check.
“Try reading something original and creative.” She strode past me, and I caught her intriguing spicy scent. She started plucking comics off her racks. She frowned at her selection, hesitated, like she was debating whether I was worth the effort, then grabbed one more before holding them out to me with a determined look that said I dare you to argue . “Here. All new. All fresh. All original.”
I stared at the stack of comics, then at her. This intelligent, vibrant dynamo not only wasn’t intimidated by me, but she also spoke her mind. No holds barred.
Damn, that was sexy.
I flashed a genuine smile as I took the stack she offered. “We got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over from the beginning. Hi. I’m Ford Ross.”
She continued to frown at me. When she finally relented, she relaxed her shoulders and held out her hand. “Mara Stellar. Welcome to Ghost of a Chance Comics.”
The name fit. With someone like Mara running it, even the smallest shop stood a chance of leaving an impression.