Chapter 17
Jesse
Jesse spent the next day catching up on tasks he normally didn’t think twice about fitting into his everyday routine. The studio claimed almost all of his time now. Anything left seemed dedicated to an endless stream of social events, publicity opportunities, and, with any luck, a little sleep.
First was running a hot iron over all the clothes returned to him from the laundry service early that morning. It was a chore he’d been doing for years and still dreaded more than he could put into words.
Next, he’d finally sat down to open the letter he received from his parents a couple days before. They’d torn a piece of paper crosswise and each used half to write how proud they were of him and that they were already saving to see his film when it came out.
P.S., his mother wrote at the end of her note in familiar, narrow cursive, If you even think about sending any of your money for our picture show tickets, I’ll be on the next bus to Los Angeles so I can smack your fingers in person.
He wrote back and thanked them for their encouragement, sealing the envelope with a folded dollar bill inside.
After sticking his letter in the box downstairs, he walked to the corner grocery.
It was the first time he wished he still had his bicycle.
His legs were sore from dancing, and the thought of carrying heavy cans back home made him wonder if he really needed to be buying so many.
He was eating well at the studio most days; dinners were covered more often than not, too.
Jesse studied his armful of baked beans with a slight frown. Then he began putting some back on the shelf, deciding that half of them could stay.
As he set the rest down on the checkout counter alongside a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of sliced bread, and three bananas, he thought about the dinner he was going to have in just a few hours.
Tender pot roast and vegetables with pie for dessert?
The chocolate everything had been fun at Edie’s party, but he had a feeling that whatever Mr. Burke prepared would include the one ingredient he’d missed the most ever since he left home—love.
With the lumpy brown paper bag tucked under one arm, he left the corner store and started for home.
If he ever got the time, there were several shops he hoped to visit along the wide main street, including a small bookstore.
There were also restaurants, a salon, which he didn’t need now that his hair was being maintained by the studio stylists, and a florist.
Jesse slowed to a stop in front of the display on the sidewalk. The blooms were all large and beautiful, obviously cared for by someone with a magical touch. He was not one of those people. He was, however, a few coins richer than he would’ve been if he’d bought more beans.
Mr. Burke said not to bring anything to dinner, but Jesse had been struggling with the thought of showing up empty-handed all morning.
Both his mother and Mrs. Nelson would tan his hide for that if they ever found out.
He asked the florist which bundle he could buy with the quarter and two nickels in his pocket and left feeling satisfied.
By the time Cal’s car pulled up to the curb outside his apartment building, Jesse had been propped against the bricks for over fifteen minutes, nearly asleep.
“Mr. Morgan?”
Jesse forced his eyes open and straightened, uncrossing his arms. He hadn’t dropped his bouquet of baby’s breath, at least.
Cal was standing beside his car wearing a look of concern. He also had on a caramel-colored cable knit sweater over a shirt and tie. Paired with cream slacks, the outfit made him appear very ready for a casual evening at home, which twisted something inside Jesse that felt a lot like longing.
“Sorry, sir,” he apologized as he approached the car, his voice a little scratchy. “I didn’t want to be late meeting you. I guess closing my eyes for a minute while I waited wasn’t the best idea.”
“Are you not feeling well?”
“Oh, I’m swell,” Jesse promised earnestly. “Just beat, that’s all.”
Cal hummed his understanding as he slid into the back seat after Jesse had climbed inside.
“What’ve you got there?”
Jesse lifted the small bundle of tiny white flowers.
“I got these for Mr. Burke. I don’t know what it’s like here, but back home it’s next to criminal if you show up to a home cooked meal without something to show your appreciation for it.” He shrugged a shoulder and brought them back down to his lap. “I know it ain’t much.”
Cal studied the flowers for a moment. Then he directed his driver to a store by name—the same flower shop Jesse had gone to before.
He dug his wallet out of his pocket and forced a $20 note into Jesse’s hand, instructing him to go and pick out whichever bouquet he liked best and not to return with more than a few pennies of change.
“Excellent,” Cal said when Jesse returned to the car with an enormous rainbow of tulips. “Now I don’t have to feel so heartless for the very unsentimental, and frankly selfish, bottle of wine I brought along.”
They worked together to combine both bouquets into one and Jesse felt light as they climbed the steps to Mr. Burke’s front door. When he answered it wearing a fun bow tie, Jesse knew he’d made a good selection.
“Thank you for having us over, Mr. Burke,” he said, offering the flowers before they even made it through the door.
“Thank you, doll.” Mr. Burke gave him a big smile and admired them. “Oh, these are gorgeous. How did you know tulips are my favorite?”
Once inside, Jesse nodded a greeting at Monty. He was propped against a doorframe a short distance behind Mr. Burke with his arms folded over his chest, eyeing Jesse and Cal like he definitely regretted his invitation the previous night, now that he wasn’t passed out on his friend’s shoulder.
A flash of white darted into the room then, and Jesse forgot all about him.
“Who is this?” he asked affectionately, dropping to one knee as the dainty white dog came over to him, tail wagging.
“Henrietta,” Mr. Burke told him.
She was the cutest thing Jesse had ever seen; small and soft with big dark eyes, smiling up at him like they were already pals. When she hopped up to try and give his cheek a wet kiss, Jesse leaned closer to allow it with a bubbly laugh, stroking her silky white head.
Monty and Mr. Burke dipped into the kitchen with the flowers and bottle of wine, leaving Cal and Jesse to admire the quaint home. It was tidy and well-furnished and left Jesse wondering what Cal’s home looked like, or if he would ever see it in person.
Bolstered by Mr. Burke’s delight over the flowers, Jesse offered to help set the table.
And when the meal was finally laid out in front of them, complete with a salad and fresh rolls, Jesse could’ve cried over how grateful he was to be there.
Everything was as delicious as he knew it would be and he told Mr. Burke so several times.
After they’d cleared their plates and the other three had finished the bottle of wine, Cal and Monty collected the dirty dishes. Mr. Burke asked Jesse to join him in the living room.
“Don’t worry about them,” Mr. Burke said with a wave of his hand, clearly noticing the way Jesse stared after Cal. “I have a strict rule about no fighting in my kitchen. They’ll behave if they’ve got a task to do.”
Jesse claimed a wingback chair while Mr. Burke sat across from him on the sofa.
Nothing he could see sparkled unnecessarily.
Rather than a live band, the music he could hear playing over the rush of running water in the kitchen crackled through a radio.
It all reminded him so much of home. Mr. Burke seemed to notice him thinking that, too.
“If your manners didn’t speak volumes, your accent certainly does.
” He gave Jesse another warm smile. “I come from South Carolina myself.” Mr. Burke gazed at the painting over the fireplace.
Jesse looked, too. It was a city street with old trees and carriages.
“Charleston will always be home, no matter how long I’m away from it. ”
“Most days I feel like I don’t belong here,” Jesse admitted.
“I remember that feeling well,” Mr. Burke agreed. “It’ll fade with time. Nobody is from here, not really. This town was built on magic and dreams.” He paused. “And money. Lots and lots of money.”
They both laughed.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Please,” Mr. Burke said, “call me Hilliard.”
“I’m still getting used to the money part, too.” Jesse rubbed his hands down his thighs to his knees a few times. “I had a decent job before all this, but I never lived somewhere that made me feel like even my brand new clothes weren’t good enough.”
“You’ll find the style that fits you best.” Hilliard measured him up with an arched brow. He’d worn what he normally did, just a pair of high-waisted dark gray trousers, shirt, and tie. “But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with what you’ve got going for you now.”
This was high praise coming from someone as stylish as Hilliard. Jesse grinned and looked down at his hands on his knees.
“All right,” he said quietly.
“That said, don’t let anyone convince you that spending all your money is the only way to survive here. It’s easy to get caught up in the expectation that being in pictures means you’re supposed to be living a certain lifestyle.” Hilliard clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Applesauce.”
The radio suddenly got louder, followed by a commotion that sounded like scuffling feet. Jesse and Hilliard exchanged an uneasy look before they made for the kitchen.
“Better!” Monty was saying, showing off a tap move with ease. Jesse recognized it as the one Cal had been struggling with most during rehearsals. He sighed out in relief.
“Having fun without us?” Jesse asked, his tired feet already warming inside his shoes at the sight.
“Monty was offering to help me a bit with the dancing,” Cal explained. He attempted the move again. It wasn’t terrible. Certainly an improvement over where he’d been at the start.
“Morgan, sweetie,” Monty said plaintively, “you’ve got to get this guy to stop talking down about himself. It’s not healthy.”
Jesse laughed and waved his arms in exasperation, hands slapping his thighs on the way down.
“I’m trying. He’s determined to believe he’s no good.”
Cal gave Jesse a handsome, apologetic smile. Jesse challenged it with a wide, mischievous grin of his own.
“Maybe Mr. Kincaid can help us with that one underarm turn,” he said, stepping closer to Cal. Then he looked at Monty to add, “It’s been giving us both some stick and no matter how much Mr. Price has us rehearse it, we can’t get it right.”
What started off as Monty dragging Hilliard into being his dance partner to demonstrate the correct way to do the move became both couples practicing the spin again and again.
Jesse’s feet burned with delight as he twirled in Cal’s arms. After more than half a dozen rotations, Hilliard begged to be released.
Henrietta was barking excitedly at Monty’s feet, so he traded one partner for another and lifted her into his arms, spinning her around, too.
Hilliard’s small kitchen wasn’t the ideal place to be dancing. Another three turns and Cal took a step too far to the left. His hip bumped against the counter and he tugged on Jesse’s hand mid-rotation as a result. Jesse yelped as he stumbled over his own feet, landing solidly against Cal’s chest.
“Sorry,” they said in unison, but Jesse’s came out a little breathlessly as he found himself wrapped up in the taller man’s steadying arms.
“Sorry,” Jesse repeated, pulling out of the embrace with a pang of regret. He wanted to remain there. Cal’s wine-heavy arms seemed to feel the same. He was slow to let Jesse go, especially with the hand on the small of his back. The lingering touch made Jesse shiver.
“Who’s ready for dessert?” Hilliard asked, breaking the moment.
They sat around the table again for pecan pie.
The warm, gooey filling paired with the richness of the vanilla ice cream melting on top was perfection.
Jesse wasn’t shy about asking for a second slice.
Hilliard offered it to him happily and then, best of all, told Jesse that he could take the rest of the pie home with him.
He held the fancy pie plate with both hands on his lap for the ride home, grinning out the window at the city lights flashing by.
“Well, that wasn’t quite as terrible as I was worried it might be,” Cal said as he walked Jesse to the door of his apartment building.
“I had a wonderful time,” Jesse told him. It was a warm night. After all the unexpected dancing and closeness, Jesse felt his shirt clinging to him. He fought the urge to shift his shoulders to unstick it. “Thank you for taking me.”
“My pleasure.” Cal tilted his chin up at the pie. “You going to eat the rest all by yourself?”
“You bet I am,” Jesse promised.
Cal snorted and they shared a soft smile.
“I might wait until tomorrow, though,” he went on. “Right now I want to take these trousers off and lie in bed for twelve hours, at least.”
Cal’s throat bobbed with a swallow.
“I think you’ve got the right idea.”
His words came out low and thick, rougher than usual, and Jesse had to remind himself what this night had been about. He’d gone with his co-star to a friendly dinner. Building connections. Supporting Cal as he began to mend the rift with Monty for the sake of both their public images.
But if that was true, why was he suddenly so desperate to sling the pie he was holding into the street and pull Cal into a searing kiss?
Before he could decide what to do about it, someone passing by on the busy sidewalk shouted, “That’s Cal Campbell!” followed by a high-pitched squeal of delight.
In a rush, they were surrounded. One woman was waving a notepad that she’d pulled out of her purse in Cal’s direction, asking for his autograph. Another lifted a magazine with his face on the cover.
Cal was effortlessly professional about the whole thing.
His smile was toothy and genuine. He signed every piece of paper that was foisted upon him, including the magazine.
He answered questions with ease, everything from small talk to a follow-up question one man had about something he’d said in a past interview.
When all the clamoring became too jumbled to make any sense of, Jesse bunched his mouth to the side with an awkward little grin and took a few slow steps back until he could reach the door.
“Good night, Mr. Campbell,” he said, only loud enough for himself to hear, and slipped inside.