“Probably not, you’re way too young and male to be in my demographic.” She extended hand her right hand. “I’m Lauren.”
“Matt McCall, ma’am.” He took her hand so cautiously she forced herself to stay still lest any motion startle him. His knuckles were black, blue, and red. She’d seen freshly ground hamburger meat that was more attractive.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Matt. Are you from Texas?” She considered commenting on his knuckles, but he withdrew his hand far more quickly than he’d offered it and tucked it back down against his leg, out of sight. He wasn’t quite rocking back and forth, but the tension thickened in the stiff set of his spine and rigid lock of his jaw.
“No.” He gave a quick jerk of his head. “Indiana.”
“Really? I’ve only been to Indiana once.” Biting the inside of her lip, she thought back to what James said at the Sybarite Club. People want to be heard. They want someone to listen. And even the most inane piece of trivia can show someone they’ve been heard. Clasping her hands together, she shifted so her butt wasn’t quite perched on the jagged crack in the cement curb. The lazy heat of the day drifted up from warm pavement, chasing away even a hint of chill.
“We were filming a car chase scene that ended in corn fields and then a secondary chase through the fields.” Crossing one ankle over the other, she pretended an interest in her painted toes. “Longest week of my life. Corn hurts when you run through it. No one told me that.”
“It can be razor sharp, ma’am. I used to hang out in the back of one of those fields with some buddies in high school. We could smoke and talk sh—um—talk stuff about girls and stuff. Anyway, we got to wrestling one day and I got a few good slices.”
“So, it’s not just me? My director told me it was because I was a klutz, but it’s not easy to race through a field, looking over your shoulder and not bang into the plants.”
Matt gave her the most peculiar look. “Why was someone chasing you, ma’am?”
“It was in the script. Between you and I, a terrible script. Who runs through cornfields in four-inch heels? I kept losing a shoe or worse, my heel would sink and then I’d trip. But they wouldn’t let me just strip them off and drop them to run.” The director’s high-handed tone still managed to chafe.
“Probably not the best idea to run through a cornfield in bare feet, ma’am. That’s a good way to get snake bit.”
“Snakes?” A shudder rocked through her and she turned wide eyes on Matt. She didn’t have to stretch far to project shock. She hated snakes. Hated them since the episode she’d had to let a python crawl over her when she played Amy Benning, the beloved daughter of Detective Andy. Nasty things.
“Yes, ma’am.” Matt’s wan smile was still a smile. “Snakes like cornfields, lots of mice to eat.”
“Ewww.”
He chuckled. A rusty sound if she’d ever heard one.
“Well, I guess I should thank my snotty director for the shoe advice.”
“Maybe. But I won’t tell if you don’t want me to.”
“I appreciate that, very much. But enough about me, what’s a good-looking young man like you doing, killing time on a curb?”
“Not sure. I don’t think they’re going to arrest me.” The lines of tension around his mouth tightened. “But maybe they should.”
“Now why would you say that?” A gamble, she probably shouldn’t push. She didn’t know Matt, she didn’t know his situation, but she knew loneliness when she saw it. She’d seen it in the mirror for twenty years. Isolated, having little contact with her peers and while Hollywood had more than a few child stars, scheduling conflicts and demands left little time for girl talk, mall-hopping or confidences. Add competition for jobs and it just became worse.
“I don’t know if I can put it in words, ma’am.”
“You know, I say that all the time, or I say that’s why I memorize scripts and don’t write them. I’ve been spouting other people’s words for years. But if this were a scene in a movie, I’d tell you just to say it plain and let the chips fall. How often do you get a chance to just spit out what’s on your mind, to hell with any consequences?” She crossed her fingers and hoped for the right thing to say.
“If you want it plain, ma’am, I’m twenty-four and I’m finished. Done. No prospects. I’m fit, but not fit for duty. I’m strong, but not strong enough. My country needs me, my men need me, and my mama needs me, and I’m no good to any of them.” The dull note in his voice worried her more than the statement.