Chapter 3 #2
When I arrive on the mezzanine level, it’s a bustling hub of connection. Three helpful staff members pack the concierge desk. Those waiting for their parties lounge on various plush couches, chairs, and ottomans. The hotel bar welcomes guests for late-afternoon libations.
Sally isn’t difficult to find. Toby and Layla, noses and hands pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, gaze in awe at the swans floating in Cheyenne Lake.
At the sight of the children, my heart pangs. But my optimism bats away the feeling. My past is what it is. Today the present is tempting me to settle and stay a while.
Toby attempts to follow another family out the door, and Sally twists toward me to shout her greeting while grabbing Toby’s hand. “Meredith.”
I bend down to reach for Layla, who is crawling to a great escape. She giggles through the swoop into my arms.
With Toby’s steps redirected, Sally calls to someone a few feet behind me. “Spence, come meet Meredith.”
Layla leans over my arms and tries to catapult herself to the man who is strolling in our direction. “Da!”
The man snags the little girl before she drops to her demise and plops her on his hip. “Hi there. I’m Spencer, Sally’s husband.”
Someone hits the pause button, and I gawk at this demigod.
Spence is Spencer. Spence is Spencer Dean. SPENCE IS SPENCER DEAN.
Spencer Dean, famous for his leading role as a crooked lawyer in a John Grisham blockbuster, is standing in front of me.
“Hello?” The only word I can remember breathes out as my eyes dart between Sally and Spencer Dean.
Spencer smiles, hand held out. “Is that a question? Hello?” He winks.
Spencer Dean winked. At me.
My brain lopes behind the scene like a hound with floppy ears. I am one giant delayed reaction. Get a grip, Meredith.
His eyebrows arch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
Spencer Dean appears amused.
Meredith Harper is mortified.
“Spence, this is Meredith,” Sally says. “She’s the one I told you about.”
Precious Sally doesn’t understand I’m frozen somewhere back in the giddy land of junior high school.
Spence’s expression changes to one of recognition. “Yes. Meredith. You’re my wife’s superhero.” He closes the gap between us, bends in to grasp my hand, and shakes.
This is getting worse. I have a rule. When I meet famous people, I am not allowed to talk during the first five minutes of the interaction.
Anything that comes out of my mouth before the five-minute mark will only be stuttered, jumbled, giggling, nervous, and full of bad jokes.
Molly made me swear to this after I met Rachael Ray and pitched the idea of an adult version of the Easy-Bake Oven to her.
My sister then sentenced me to Famous People Probation because for me, the initial exhilaration of talking to a celebrity is not worth the aftermath price of humiliation.
But there is no time to wait the required five minutes because I am now BFF status with Sally, the wife of Spencer Dean. Acting cool is imperative. I am just meeting my friend’s husband. Say it again. I am just—breathe—meeting—breathe—my friend’s husband.
“Meredith, are you okay?” Sally purses her lips and her cheeks twitch. Apparently I’m not fooling her.
“Yes, Meredith, are you okay?” booms a voice behind me.
As if I needed another reason to fall into hysteria, Harlan Holcombe saunters into our exchange.
“Hey, man.” Spencer Dean is now talking to Harlan Holcombe. Which might be less alarming if I were watching a movie instead of being in person, with my participation in the discussion required.
“Hi, Meredith.” Harlan observes me, mischievous eyes sparkling.
My lips try to move but fail, and my eyes are wide, frozen in shock. For once, I’m not trying to adhere to the five-minute rule. I am simply immobile.
Harlan joins my worst nightmare as the group studies me. His body remains facing mine, and slowly he stiffens, as if to mirror my stress. “What did you do to her?” he says out of the corner of his mouth.
My face contorts, and it’s regrettable when I use my out-loud voice. “I’m on Famous People Probation.”
Sally snickers in the background, but I can only see Harlan’s head, now cocked to the side. “What?”
“Okay.” A huff of breath escapes and I wring my hands.
“I don’t understand what happened, but by a complete fluke, I walked into someone else’s life.
Now I must leave.” I start to turn. What else is there to say?
Tears are forming. Why tears? I don’t know.
Rather than blush like an ordinary person, I am dying.
Their collective laughter follows me as I turn to escape. I will be an entertaining story at their next Hollywood stars support group.
“Hey, hang on.” A chuckling Harlan uses his long, jean-clad legs to slide in front of me and cut off my getaway. “What’s wrong? You survived meeting me the other night. And you survived our moment in the spa.”
“You guys had a moment in the spa?” This from Spence. Super-Famous Man number two looks to Harlan, who is nodding.
I squinch my eyes. “We did not have a moment in the spa. We had a short conversation.”
“It was definitely a moment. But you have a point. I can’t prove that one.”
I have a point? There are no points. There are no coherent thoughts in my brain right now. How can there be points?
Oblivious, Harlan keeps talking. “But you did dance with me. There were witnesses. And you survived.”
“Barely. No thanks to your dancing.” Filtering doesn’t occur to me or my flailing hands.
“Let me start from the beginning. I met Sally today and we had a wonderful conversation. I thought she was just a normal person.” My torso twists, and I whisper at her through clenched teeth, “I thought you were normal.”
Sally slaps a hand over her mouth, and her shoulders shake in muffled amusement.
My body spins back to Harlan. “Apparently she isn’t normal, because a few minutes ago, I found out she is married to Spencer Dean and they are friends with Harlan Holcombe. All are delightful people but also frequent the cover of People magazine’s Most Beautiful list.”
Harlan clutches his navy Henley shirt over his heart, feigning hurt. “Only once.”
“Twice for me,” Spencer says in a cocky voice.
Harlan half turns to punch him in the shoulder. “Jerk.”
Spencer returns his focus to me. “Why is this a problem?”
Exasperated that they can’t understand, I open my arms wide. “Because you aren’t real people. Besides”—I squeeze my eyes shut—“it’s painful to talk to you.”
Harlan nudges me with his elbow, and my eyes pop open. Good Lord, he just touched me. He leans in and says in a low voice, “But isn’t it also just a little bit fun?”
Spencer studies me. “We went to high school together. Why is this a problem?”
I point between both of them, my finger wagging in the space between us. “Don’t try to make this okay.”
Spencer grins. “High school puts everyone on the same playing field. We’re normal.
He and I played football together. Doubled to homecoming.
Spent countless hours playing Nintendo.” He kisses little Layla’s hand.
“Listen, we’re going to grab something to eat.
The studio switched up our schedule, which means the next few hours are free.
Why don’t you come with us? I’ll tell you all about this guy’s ninth grade mullet. ”
Hmm. Hearing about Harlan Holcombe’s unfortunate hair days would knock him down a few notches.
Sally chimes in with a chagrined smile. “Spence called right before I left the room. What do you think?” She leans closer to confess and conspire. “I’m a real person. Ignore them.”
With cautious movements, I shift to inspect each person. Surreptitious Sally. Spellbinding Spence. Hero-worshiped Harlan.
Nope. Not ready yet. I lift my hand and make a shield to block my view of Harlan’s face. “Why don’t you let me babysit so the two of you can enjoy a romantic date alone?”
Harlan’s suave voice breaks through my hand barricade. “Can I stay and help you with the kids?”
My arm dips, and when he comes into view, I glare at him. “Absolutely not.” I shoot the barrier back up.
Two women eyeing our discussion scoot past Sally, and she takes a step toward me. “No, no. Thank you so much for the offer. But the kids are super excited about hanging out with their daddy. Plus, they love climbing all over Uncle Harlan.”
On cue, Toby swings on Harlan’s arm.
In one of my more courageous moves of the afternoon, I glance at Harlan.
His laser eyes are directed at me, and I’m stuck in his tractor beam. “You made plans with Sally,” he says. “No pressure, but refusing is not an option because we know you’re available.”
I release a long, dramatic sigh. “Are any other ridiculously famous people joining us for dinner?”
Grinning, he shakes his head once. “Nope.”
Sally must sense my resignation because she reaches up, squeezes my hand, and pulls me forward. Harlan’s fingers graze the middle of my back to guide me to the exit. I ignore the confusing shiver down my spine.
Toby hangs off Harlan’s left arm with every stride. Spencer kisses Layla on the cheek over and over, causing baby babbles while he ambles toward the door.
As the six of us leave the Broadmoor together, I shake my head and start talking to myself. “I am going to dinner with Spencer Dean, his wife and kids, and their good friend Harlan Holcombe.”
“Meredith,” Harlan calls behind me. “Referring to me by just my first name might help.”
“Of course, Harlan Holcombe. I will try that.”
Is it too late to go back to the corner in my dodgeball game?