"So, you're an actor, Lance," Jason said. "That's pretty unstable work."
Lance nodded and said, "It can be."
"I'm in sales. Top in my district, three years running."
So this is our game, Lance thought, deciding it was as good as any. After all, Lance couldn't see a basketball hoop anywhere, and the Sycamore Hills people probably wouldn't appreciate them arm wrestling near the good crystal. "Very impressive," Lance said, sliding his sarcasm directly under Jason's nose.
Jason gave an "aw, shucks" shrug of his shoulders. "Closing deals comes easier for me than most people. I visualize scoring—like in football. You play any ball, Lance?"
"No," Lance said, adjusting the napkin on his lap. "Not competitively."
"Oh, well, nothing to be ashamed of, buddy. Someone's got to sit in the stands and cheer." Jason smiled. "Isn't that right, Tiny?" he asked, turning to Nina, who wore the grin of a game-show contestant who couldn't believe the parting gift was such a prize.
Is this the same woman who drove her VW on the shoulder of the road and passed a semi doing ninety? Lance wanted to ask. The look on Nina's face made him feel sick. The sight must have bothered Julia, too, because Lance felt her tense and ask, "So, Jason, how's the house hunting going?"
"Renting works fine for me," Jason said before taking a bite of the pork he'd finally accepted. "I'm keeping my options open."
"Yeah," Julia said. "I know how much you like your options."
Lance thought he could almost hear Julia thinking, But Nina is not for rent.
Next to Julia, Caroline put her fork down with a clank. "Have I told you about my new Swiffer? It's just amaz—"
"I'm not sure I really need to buy a place." Jason sliced through Caroline's words as if she didn't exist. He was holding Nina's hand, looking deeply into her eyes.
"Jason, it's a great time to buy," Julia exclaimed. "I hear Owasso is nice. Why don't you move to Owasso?"
"Has anybody seen the new Remington exhibit?" Caroline blurted. "I hear it's—"
"Owasso is completely on the other side of town!" Nina jumped in.
Caroline picked up the basket on the table and said, "Who wants bread?"
"I realize that," Julia said, glaring at her best friend. "The distance might be good. It might make it easier to move on" she finished, brandishing her fork until Lance covered her hand with his, hoping to stop her from leaning across the table and taking out one of Jason's eyes.
"Sunken treasure!" Caroline yelled, and everyone at three tables turned to her. "I saw the most interesting documentary about sunken treasure," she said, and spent the rest of the main course retelling it in detail without even pausing for breath until their plates were cleared and the emcee announced that people had just five minutes until the silent auction closed.
The crowd began to stir while dessert was being served, and Lance noticed the noise level in the room creep a little higher as the free booze started to mix with the heart medication that was, no doubt, filling two-thirds of the tuxedo pockets in the room. Nina and Caroline slipped off to feel the drapes. Jason excused himself to go call a customer. Steve was at another table, consoling a client about some loophole that Congress had just closed, leaving Lance and Julia at the table alone when the band eased seamlessly into more danceable music.
Lance looked at Julia, the gorgeous curve of her neck, the look of concern she wore for everyone she loved. He realized he had been acting for most of his adult life, but he didn't know who to be right then. Maybe it was Wally's old tuxedo, or the grandeur of Sycamore Hills, but he was having a very hard time acting like himself. He started to ask her to dance, but then drew back, suddenly unsure of his line.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a royal-blue vision floating toward their table.
"Julia, darling," Miss Georgia said, distressed. "No one's dancing. These events are marked as complete and utter failures if no one dances. Come," she said, taking Julia's arm. "You and Lance have to dance. When people see you, they'll join in."
"Oh, Evelyn, I don't really think—"
"Julia, please," Miss Georgia pleaded. "Please, do this for me."
Julia looked at Lance. "Do you want to dance?"
He rose and said, "I thought you'd never ask."
Before she could recant, he led her onto the dance floor and pulled her into his arms. Ob, man, he thought, she smells good. When he felt the soft skin on her back, he thought, She feels good, too. Then he stepped on her toe.
"Sorry," he muttered, but Julia just smiled.
When the band changed tempo, they found their rhythm. Lance breathed her in, stealing little glances as Julia looked into the crowd. "Julia," he whispered. He felt himself get tongue-tied. "I liked the pork."
She raised her eyebrows and said, "Good. They have great chefs here."
I liked the pork? Lance berated himself as they fell into awkward silence. "I hate Jason," he said, grasping for common ground.
At this, Julia exhaled and momentarily dropped her cheek onto his shoulder. "Promise you won't let me kill him. Just promise me I won't end up in jail twice in one week."
Lance laughed, and with his old smile, his old confidence returned. Their steps became more fluid, and soon they were floating across the floor. When he spun her out and smoothly back into his arms, he told her, "I'm an old-fashioned guy, Julia. I'd be more than happy to do the killing for you."
"You're not just saying that to get on my good side?"
"No, I hate him."
Julia smiled, and she looked like he hadn't seen her look since that first day in the cab, as if she was comfortable in her own skin, certain of where she was going. For the first time since they'd arrived in Oklahoma, Julia looked at home.
On the ride back to her place, Julia let Lance drive. He had taken off the tuxedo jacket and loosened his tie, and as they drove down the gravel road, she studied him in the glow of the dashboard lights. He looked like he belonged on a billboard in Times Square, or in a cologne commercial. He seemed too perfect to be real. So when they reached the house, Julia hurried inside, anxious to be tucked safely in bed before the clock struck twelve and she turned back into a pumpkin. "I'm going to bed," she said.
"You are? It's not even that late," he protested, and she knew he was right. Ro-Ro's events were always of the early-bird variety; it was still before eleven.
"I'm exhausted, really. Just make yourself at home and ..."
The phone rang. Julia, too exhausted to think clearly, answered it. "Hello?"
"Julia, honey, Richard Stone here. How's our boy?"
Julia froze; the night came to a grinding halt. Lance read her gaze as she stared at the receiver. He took the phone from her hand and killed the line.
"It was Richard Stone," she said numbly. "He wanted you."
"You didn't tell him I was here, Julia," he said. "But you are here. You're in my house. It's going to look like—"
"Julia." He spun her to face him. "Things are okay. Okay? Look at me. How much property do you have here?"
"Almost five hundred acres. I rent it. I mean, I let my dad run cows on it."
"How many roads are there to the house?"
"Just the one, the main one. There's a county road on one side, but other than that, we're landlocked."
"Okay, good. We're on private property as long as we're here. The press can't come near us. We can call the sheriff if we have to, but they can't set foot on your property."
His arms were on her shoulders. His voice was soft but strong when he said, "No one has proof we're together, but they're probably coming to get some."
"Yes."
"This changes things," he said. "I know."
Chapter Fourteen
WAY #15: Don't let little things get you down.
It's important to keep life in perspective. Comments from people who don't know or understand you should never make you question your own worth. After all, you are the world's greatest expert on yourself.
—from 707 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire
The clock on the bedside table kept ticking—not an unfamiliar sound. But that night, the cards didn't seem to soothe Julia's mind. She wrapped her arms around her knees and tried not to think about the man in the bedroom down the hall. She tried not to imagine the headlines that would swell as soon as the tabloids learned that he was in her house, sleeping under her roof. Reporters and photographers were certainly on their way, so Julia pulled the cards back together and slipped them into their cardboard box, knowing the situation wouldn't change, no matter how thoroughly she shuffled.
She pulled on a robe and slippers and moved quietly into the hallway, past the closed door of Lance's room. The shades on the window in the upstairs landing were drawn so tightly that not even the moon crept into the dark house, yet she feared turning on a light, as if, right then, men with telescopic lenses were perched in the limbs of sycamore trees, trying to invade her home. She trusted the smooth surface of the mahogany banister to guide her down the stairs. When she reached the foyer, she turned into a small room, slid the big double doors as far as they would go, and sealed herself away from everything beyond the four walls of her home office. She went to the desk where her computer waited, pushed the button, and heard the machine chime to life.
Her house might be four miles from the nearest neighbor, its walls might be thick, the woods might be dense, but Julia knew chaos could intrude on these comfortable borders. She had returned home to block herself off from the outside world, but her career was still going on without her—out there. The sales figures Candon had given her that day at the Ritz were astronomical. He'd known how those sales would translate into income. As the Windows icon flashed on the screen, Julia looked around her study with its broken shelves and cracking walls and asked the room itself, "Does it look like I'm in it for the money?"
Surely the momentum is bound to swing, she told herself as she typed in the URL for Amazon.com and wondered if she was the only writer in history to hope that her sales ranking had plummeted.
It hadn't.
Next, Julia directed the browser to an Internet search engine. She held her breath as she typed "Julia James" and "Lance Collins" into the query field and clicked Go. Soon she found herself looking at results one through twenty of 250,000. To make matters worse, the banner at the top of the screen said that she was the most searched-for item of the week. It's official, Julia thought. I am utterly and completely Googled.
She clicked on the first link and read until the words were burned into her mind.
WHAT WILL WOMEN DO NOW? THE NEW STATE OF SINGLE by a columnist at a national daily that had weather predictions, box scores, and a place on the lobby counter at every hotel in America.
With bestselling author Julia James off the market, single women, psychologists, and cultural analysts are all asking the same question: Will single ever be the same?
From the time Table for One debuted five years ago, Julia James has been the face of the single woman. But since she and boyfriend Lance Collins were photographed on a New York street in the shot heard around the world, fans and critics alike are calling her career into question.
