Chapter 29 Beck #2
“Absolutely. She’s a casting director. She has her own agency. I felt like it was my lucky day when I met her. When opportunity knocks, you answer, right?”
“More like you saw an opportunity and stalked it,” Ezra says mildly.
“Objection,” Eleanor says.
“Withdrawn.” Ezra is unruffled.
“All I wanted was a chance, and instead, she used me for sex,” Andy repeats, a theme he’s clearly rehearsed with Eleanor. “Then she asked me to leave. I felt . . . insignificant. Gullible. And kind of . . . dirty.”
Shit. At least four jurors look sympathetic. Middle-aged casting director, not terribly pretty, takes advantage of poor dopey bank teller who’d do anything for a shot at the big screen.
Then Beck sits up straight. She scrawls a sentence on her legal pad and slaps her pen down on the table. Ezra takes a few steps her way, glances at the note and smiles.
“So, Mr. Ledfield, you bought expensive cocktails for Ms. Morrow one night, took her to a fancy dinner later that same week, picked up the tab both times, went back to her place and had sex. But you didn’t leave right away, did you?
You did do a monologue for her, isn’t that right?
And that was when she told you she wouldn’t be able to further your nonexistent career as an actor. Correct?”
“Well . . . yeah.” Andy looks at the jury imploringly. “I felt like I had to take my shot.”
“Which monologue did you perform, Mr. Ledfield?” Ezra asks.
“The Jack Nicholson speech from A Few Good Men,” he says proudly.
“Would you care to do it for the jury right now?”
Andy’s face lights up.
Forty-two minutes later, the jury comes back with a verdict of not guilty of sexual coercion, orders Andy to pay Beck’s legal fees and $25,000 in damages, which she’ll probably never see.
It doesn’t matter. Beck hugs Ezra, thanks him, asks to take him and his wife out for dinner this weekend.
Her phone is already blowing up with messages from all the people who’ve ignored her for the past three months.
Congratulations!!! and I have a role only you’ll understand and Let’s grab lunch and Great news, Call me this afternoon about JJ’s new project and Obviously knew you were NG! Let’s celebrate over drinks this week.
She glances at Andy, whose face is still bright red, a reaction to the jury wheezing with laughter during his monologue.
Eleanor meets her eyes and gives an almost imperceptible nod.
And, because she can’t help it, Beck goes over to their table, slides her card to the attorney and says, “If you’re ever interested in acting . . .”
Andy yelps in dismay, but Beck is already walking toward the door.
And there, in the back row of the courtroom, is Stephen. Her heart swoops up so fast she’s dizzy, and the floor feels very far away. He stands, dazzling her with his smile.
“Congratulations,” he says, and hugs her.
God, he feels so good. “What are you doing here?” She pulls back while she still can, tears stinging her eyes.
“I got your court date from Jasmine. Figured I’d sneak in.”
The Core Four have been talking every few days via Zoom. Sometimes after a call, Micah, Jasmine and Beck will have another call to shore each other up, talk about their lives, cry over Audrey.
But Beck hasn’t spoken with Stephen since the reunion. She told him to call if he wanted to, but he hasn’t.
“Is everything okay with Audrey?” she asks.
“Yes. Well . . . no. I’ve been going up a couple times a week. Some days are better than others.” The sadness in his eyes hits her hard, and she squeezes his solid shoulders. “She’s going downhill.”
“I’m so sorry, Stephen.” She takes his hand in hers.
“Let’s get out of here,” she says, towing him outside the courthouse.
The noise and chaos of a New York City sidewalk hits them like a wall, the cacophony of cars and languages, sirens and construction.
It’s the constant song of the city, the same song that had been their playlist every day they were together.
“Do you want to get lunch or have a coffee or something?” she asks.
“Yes. But that’s not why I’m here, Rebecca. I . . . Well, shit, my timing isn’t great, but as Audrey says, no time like the present, right?”
“Ms. Morrow, do you have a comment?” asks a reporter, holding her phone near Beck’s head.
“I think Andy’s monologue spoke for itself, don’t you? No further comment.” She smiles at the woman, then turns back to Stephen.
Her heart has always been his. She’s only ever loved one man, after all.
“Can you not stand in the middle of the sidewalk?” asks an irritable woman as she weaves around them. “God. Tourists.”
Stephen pulls her into a doorway. “Rebecca . . . you’re the one. I thought we were too young, or it would be too hard, or we were too far apart, or it would be too weird, being with my sister’s best friend. But the second I saw you again, I knew. I’ve always loved you, Rebecca. I always will.”
It seems to get very quiet, as if silence has fallen around just the two of them, sheltering them from everything and everyone else.
There are some moments in life that are infused with perfection. Despite the cold, gritty November wind, the spatter of rain and the glowering sky, this is one of them. His eyes are so beautiful, so dark, those ridiculous curly lashes, his perfect nose.
“If you don’t say you love me right now, I’m gonna walk into traffic,” Stephen says.
“Oh! I do! God, Stephen, I have for the past twenty-seven years. Not that I counted or anything. I love you. I love you, I will love you forever, Stephen Wentworth.”
And then they are kissing, and the past and the present blur, because after all, some things never change.
Beck and Stephen were always meant to be.