Chapter 30

Sitting down to dinner with Liz Larimer in Beverly Hills was nothing like sharing a table at a taco stand in Carlsbad. She hadn’t been exaggerating about the number of people with cameras that staked out the sidewalk. The bistro had a small outdoor dining area that ran beside the building. It was late enough of the evening that we could sit there without having to wait an hour (not that any restaurant made Liz wait – even in Beverly Hills).

Liz chose a table a little away from the gaggle of photographers and videographers but where the presences of the uninvited entourage wouldn’t create issues with the other patrons. The eatery was fairly upscale and didn’t cater to the tourist crowd. It was accustomed to seeing Hollywood A-listers arrive unannounced. The outdoor area was situated on private property away from the sidewalk. The photographers couldn’t get within 40 feet of us and they couldn’t really interrupt our dining.

The two other security guys stayed outside but Ryan joined us in the bistro. I saw from the photos on the wall that I wasn’t the first guy Liz had brought there but I brushed off the thought quickly. Ryan stayed behind us until I had pulled Liz’s chair out and she was seated, once again ensuring that no one managed to get a picture of her rear end with a zoom lens. I wondered how so many pictures of Liz’s ass had popped up on the Internet with Ryan being so watchful.

I decided to ask once we were seated. I mean, we had to talk about something.

Liz laughed and shook her head.

“It’s because of the shorts I’m wearing,” she confided. There was enough distance between the tables that we could talk in soft voices without being overheard. “You can see my panty line through them. So Ryan makes sure that those sorts of pictures don’t get taken. I mean, he’s OK with pictures of his butt on a computer screen. I really didn’t think about it until Jill mentioned it as we were getting ready to leave. Rather than change my undies, I just asked him to make sure no one got a picture of it. VPL is not a good thing.”

“VPL?” I asked.

“Visible panty line,” Liz said, laughing again. “I’m not kidding about sitting you down at a computer and not letting you up until you’re thoroughly corrupted.”

“Wouldn’t it be more fun just to corrupt me yourself?” I asked.

Her eyes twinkled and she nodded. I noticed a host of camera flashes so the photographers were obviously playing close attention.

“I’ll do my part,” Liz said. “Don’t worry about that.”

We were holding hands across the small table and she gave mine a squeeze.

“Are you really doing OK?” she asked.

“It will take some getting used to,” I admitted. “I keep worrying that I’ll pick my nose or scratch my butt.”

“It happens,” Liz said with a shrug. “Look, I’m the celebrity. To these people ... and I want you to understand that I don’t think this way ... to these people, you’re an accessory. You’re like a handbag or a pair of shoes. Yes, they’ll notice if it doesn’t match my outfit. But, well, they’re here to see me. If your butt itches, scratch it. But don’t pick your nose if you plan to hold my hand anytime soon.”

It was my turn to laugh.

“What’s that saying? You can pick your friends; you can pick your nose; but you can’t hold hands with your friend if you picked your nose,” I said.

“Pretty close,” Liz agreed. “I wish ... I wish every day could be like the weekend we just had.”

“No, you don’t,” I countered. Liz tilted her head but was careful not to seem upset. “You’d miss the fun parts of your life. You’d miss jumping up on stage and having 50,000 people sing along with you. You’d miss being able to make a difference in the lives of a lot of good people. This?”

I shrugged and made a vague gesture over my shoulder.

“This is what you have to endure to get to the good stuff,” I said. “And this is what I have to endure to spend time with you. It’s worth it ... to me, and I think to you.”

“You can’t say things like that when I can’t properly show my happiness,” Liz said, leaning forward slightly. Her eyes were wide and her tongue was trapped between her teeth. The flashes went off again and she sat back in her chair.

“If things move forward with us, I’ll get more comfortable and it won’t be so awkward,” I said.

“If?” Liz asked, lifting her eyebrows slightly. “You go from telling me I’m worth putting up with these idiots to using the word ‘if’?”

“It’s early days,” I said. “We’re not kids anymore. Both of us are pretty well set in our ways. We might find that we can’t bend far enough to accommodate the other.”

“I seem to recall you bending in some very exciting ways over the past few days,” Liz said, offering me a look that made me slightly erect below the waist. “And you’ll have to admit I’ve found some very intimate places to accommodate you.”

I smiled and nodded.

“We are good at that portion of the relationship,” I admitted.

“Oh, we are better than good,” Liz declared.

“But we need to work on other parts of being together,” I continued.

Liz sighed and the sexual spell was broken.

“Yeah,” she said with a wry smile. “Like not snapping and saying hateful things when I don’t get my way.”

“It’s more than that,” I said. “You told me that you get a little manic from time to time. I knew that you were just lashing out and I happened to be closest. I wasn’t mad.”

“But you were hurt,” Liz said.

“Not really,” I said. “I mean, yeah, it was hard to hear but I knew that I was just a convenient target.”

“I’m going to work on it,” Liz said.

“Me, too,” I agreed. “I wasn’t really talking about that anyway.”

“Then what?” Liz asked. The photographers had been forgotten. The constant expression of pleasantness had been replaced by sincere concern.

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” I said. “In the coming days, people are going to point out that we’re pretty different. I’m just a guy that works for a living; you have people hanging on your every deed. I’m decidedly middle class and, uh, you’re not.”

“Those things don’t matter,” Liz cut in.

“On the surface, no,” I agreed. “We have some things in common. I won’t deny that. But we have a lot more differences than similarities. We need to find things we both enjoy and we’re not really going to get the chance to do that for a couple of months. When you factor in that we’re never going to get the chance to find common activities with any degree of privacy I can see where things could deteriorate pretty quickly.”

Liz sighed and stared at me.

“Sorry,” I said. “I should have waited until we were back at the hotel before bringing it up. This isn’t the time or the place for a real conversation.”

“No,” Liz agreed. “But you’re right. This is something we’re really going to have to work on and watch for. I think I saw from the outset that neither of us fits easily into the other’s world. At the same time, I think we’ve both seen how comfortable we are in the world that isn’t our own. You’re good with my crew. They already love having you around ... and not just because I snap at you and not them. They like you and you bring a needed perspective to things. By the same token, your friends like me ... and not just because I offered them a way out of a shitty job. They like me because, at heart, I’m just like you guys. Mostly, our friends like their new acquaintance because we make each other happy. At least I think we do. I mean, I know you make me happy.”

“You make me happy, too,” I said. “But we can’t start planning a wedding just yet. Things have moved a lot quicker with you than I’m used to. I mean, Tuesday morning, you couldn’t even say for certain that I was still alive. By Tuesday night, we’d practically moved in together.”

Liz laughed.

“No practically about it,” she said. “And, this is about 3,000 times my normal speed, too. The thing is ... I don’t to be without you ever again. I’m already bummed that you’re not coming back until Thursday morning. I know why and I agree with your reasons. But even knowing that you promised the boys a night sleeping on the back deck, I would rather have you sleeping next to me.”

“If it is any consolation, I would rather be sleeping next to you,” I said, smiling at her. “By Thursday morning, I would probably rather be sleeping next to anyone if it was in a bed but, for now, you are the place I would rather be.”

Liz was still laughing when a star-struck waitress brought our food to us. We had gone traditional ... cheeseburgers and a platter of fries that we would share. Even so, the waitress waited until we each took a bite to assure her that things were fine (or, to be honest, until Liz took a bite; I probably could have choked to death and the girl wouldn’t have noticed) before she departed.

“So, before we get to the club, can you dance?” Liz asked.

“Some,” I confessed with a hint of chagrin. “Not well; definitely not like you.”

“Good,” Liz said, grinning again. “Then you can just stand still and let me rub my body against you. You’re not opposed to that idea, are you?”

“No,” I said. Well, I croaked. I was not the least little bit opposed to that idea.

“The only thing is ... you have to keep your hands off the goodies,” Liz said, winking at me. I immediately became aware of our lack of privacy again.

My back was to them so I could roll my eyes without anyone seeing. Liz saw, however, and tossed a fry at my head. I caught it and put it in my mouth.

“No fair,” Liz said. “I forgot you have ‘catlike reflexes.’”

I lowered my head and shook it in denial.

“That’s what the scouts said in one of the stories I read about you,” Liz declared, grinning madly. “‘Blakeley is a rare breed these days. His bat is tailor-made for a corner infield position and his catlike reflexes make him a natural defender at third base.’”

“Jesus,” I said. “I told my friends that you probably remember every single thing you’ve ever seen or read.”

“I just thought that was cool,” Liz said. “I still remember the numbers, too, even though I didn’t understand them. What does 60-65-60-60-40-65 mean? If it were me, it might be my measurements in centimeters but I don’t know what it means in baseball terms.”

“Scouts rate prospects on a scale of 10 to 80,” I explained. “The numbers represent a player’s skill in five categories: hitting for average; hitting for power; fielding; throwing arm and speed. Anyone with a score of 45 or higher is predicted to be an above-average player in the Majors.”

“What does the last number mean?” Liz asked. “I guess the first five were the categories. What was the sixth?”

“Overall,” I said, shrugging.

“So the scouts thought you were going to be ... really good,” Liz said. “I knew it! I knew it! My baby was destined for stardom.”

“You think that’s something?” I rejoined. “My baby is a world-famous superstar!”

The smile Liz offered was radiant and completely real.

“I’m your baby,” she said shyly.

“Yep,” I confirmed. I gave a slight glance to my left before leaning forward and lowering my voice to whisper. “Do you have any idea how many times I wanted to stop random strangers in the past few days and tell them I’m dating Liz Larimer? I probably would have except they’d have locked me up in the nuthouse.”

Liz leaned forward over the table until we were only a few inches apart.

“Do you know how many times in the last few days I’ve wanted to call random people in Erie County, Ohio, and tell them I’m dating Travis Blakely?” she asked.

“Twice,” I answered.

Liz blinked but didn’t move away as she ignored the photographers that thought this might be the prelude to a make out session or something.