On Saturdays, William allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in, though there was a routine of activities to take care of. He dropped off laundry and dry-cleaning and picked up his washed items. He went shopping and came home with food and sundries that he needed at the house. However, his mind was only partially on these tasks; the other part was on his plans for the evening.

Given her distaste for the pub and the ale, William was concerned about selecting a restaurant that would please Lizabeth. Did she have a refined palette as far as food, or was she finicky? He knew a good tapas place in Hollywood where you could see the iconic Hollywood sign from the streets below; most visitors gawked with delight at that view. The food at the restaurant was varied enough that something should suit her; it had been a noodle place, but reopened with a new Asian-Italian tapas theme. But hell, both served noodles, right?

Reading scripts was his usual Saturday afternoon activity, and he settled down with his tablet, notepad, and a pen to consider the latest script changes and the new direction he and Caroline had discussed for the final five episodes. He only had marginal luck in concentrating on work. Emails would swim in front of his eyes when he stared at them, and he finally gave up attempting to deal with them. He had all day on Sunday to answer them. Lizabeth was only here and his guest today, tonight. His mind's purpose was not on Bella Montaña or any other business but his date.

When the carriage clock (an heirloom of his grandfather) struck three, he gave up. His office was a shed behind the house, probably built illegally, but he tidied up his work, and called Lizabeth without texting her first to warn that he was calling.

"Hello?"

"It's William. Just checking on your schedule and what time did you want to meet?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too breathless.

"Yes!" Was it possible to hear someone smile over the phone? "We got up and out first thing, but the traffic!" she laughed. "I know that they say everyone drives in LA and that you should expect traffic, but I think we didn't believe it. We've only done half of what we wanted to see today." She paused.

"Do your friends want to carry on and try to fit everything in, despite the traffic and crowds?" he asked.

"No. But we made an unexpected stop." There was a pause, or rather, a deliberate silence. He thought she was moving a little, to seek a little privacy so her friends couldn't overhear. "We went to the Huntington in the morning and then The Getty, both of which we agreed to see. But when I suggested we stop to see the Walk of Fame, it was voted down although we were driving through Hollywood."

"Where are you now?" he asked.

"At Forest Lawn." Her voice lowered. "I don't think Lyle likes cemeteries. Most of the headstones are flat to the ground, so it isn't so graveyard-like. Charlene and I out-voted him as we wanted to come, even though it's a touristy thing to do."

"Did you just get there, or are you about to leave?"

"We are about to leave and are thinking about the next stop." Her words as expectations lay in the air between them.

"When did you want to get together for dinner? Your hotel is in Pasadena, but I live in West Los Angeles, so you're closer now than if you go back to your hotel. But maybe you want to change?" he asked. After all, most women would want to change their clothes after being out in the sun and hoofing it around Los Angeles all day.

"Can I talk to Charlene? I certainly don't mind meeting you soon, but I also don't want to upset her if she has immediate plans." Was Lizabeth having second thoughts? It was difficult not to read into her words.

"Just for a point of reference," he interjected, "LA traffic and all, it will likely take fifty or sixty minutes to drive from my house to your hotel in Pasadena."

"Oh!" A long silence twisted his gut as he waited for Lizabeth to continue. "I guess if we did one more thing, we wouldn't be home until six or seven, and then I wouldn't be ready to go for at least a half-hour after that." She was reasoning herself into William coming to get her. He smiled in hope. "It's been a warm day, and I'm sure I look a mess."

"I'll dress casual, so I don't upstage you," he assured her. "I still need to change, and it's likely forty minutes to get there."

"What?" Her question threw him, but then he heard voices on the other end. Her friend, Charlene, must have been listening despite Lizabeth attempting to speak privately. "Charlene wonders if the Hollywood Hills cemetery is any closer or easier for you to get to? All of this just seems so much work for us to have dinner."

The Hollywood Hills cemetery was even harder to get to. Los Angeles was defined by its geography, which included a couple of mountain ranges that shaped the cityscapes. The best way to that locale was for him to drive over the Santa Monica mountains and then head west. William sighed. The hotel meet-up was looking like the best option, and he said so.

"Are you sure?" Lizabeth pressed. He heard the sounds of movement then and could tell that she was cupping a hand over the phone. "Lyle wanted to try one more museum, but Charlene wanted to see the other cemetery. I think they're arguing."

"Without you to break a tie, they will have to work things out for themselves," he asserted. "I'm sure there's something excellent to do that will appeal to both of them in Pasadena. Let's meet at your hotel at 5:00, okay? They can find something to do after dropping you off."

"That still seems early," she said.

"It will be another forty-five minutes back to the place I have selected for dinner, so not so early by then," he explained.


William was early when he got to her hotel. He eschewed the loading zone and attempted to park in the garage only to find he needed a card key to get in. He ended up parking in a business lot across the street and hoped no one would notice.

Lizabeth was waiting in the lobby when the doors slid open to admit him. Her phone was in her hand, but she seemed elsewhere as though going through some checklist in her head. William watched her pat her purse, flex the hand that held the phone before she looked down at her shoes. He assumed she was doing a last-minute check of her outfit.

"You look beautiful," he said, stepping past the opening. The doors slid closed behind him.

"Hi." Lizabeth straightened the arm that held the phone. "I was just going to text you. And thanks." Her dimple showed.

William was bolder this day and slipped a hand partly around her shoulders to steady her as he kissed her in greeting. It was similar to the one they had shared the night before, but he had to establish some territory. "Hi," he said when he straightened up.

Her eyes sparkled, and her lips curled up as she grinned back at him. "What's for dinner?"

"Tapas. There's a place over in my neck of the woods. Your hotel being so far away makes for an interesting evening getting around LA" He slipped that hand more firmly around her and directed them out of the main doors. "I had to park illegally, so we need to be quick to make sure I haven't been towed."

"Parking is an issue, isn't it?" she said. Lizabeth listed off the places they had been that day while they walked to the car. Then she spoke in more detail about what she and her friends had done and seen. William picked up on an underlying tension between Lizabeth and Lyle and mentioned it.

"He's very anti-tourist stuff or anything that has to do with the movies," she admitted. "My first thought about LA was Disneyland and movie studios, but Lyle wasn't interested. But for all his bombast, I have to say there are places I never knew existed, but which I really enjoyed, like the Huntington."

"What was your favorite thing there?" William asked as they turned off one freeway and onto another. Such was life in LA: freeway driving.

"The rose garden. I have never considered myself an outdoorsy person, but now I want a place with enough space to plant rose bushes. I can't explain it, but they were profoundly beautiful and took me by surprise. Maybe it's because they were on the bush and not cut? I feel like I'm a little kid or an alien who has never seen something and is experiencing it for the first time." She laughed.

William thought there was a little embarrassment thrown into that laugh, along with some gentle self-effacement.

"I have never examined myself in a way. I know I've been sheltered, but I am working on changing that. I want new experiences. And if it's planting rose bushes, then, well." Lizabeth stopped speaking. Now she was just embarrassed.

"I have nothing but green grass and the required orange tree in my backyard," he remarked. "You're required to have a citrus tree on your property if you live in the Los Angeles metropolitan area. Did you know that?" William laughed gently. Lizabeth joined in a few seconds later when she realized he was joking.

"Can you eat the oranges?" Lizabeth asked.

"Yes. I suspect I don't water them right as they're bland," he answered. "But yes, you can eat them."

"Is your backyard big enough to accommodate a few rose bushes?"

"I'm sure I could tuck in a few. The lawn uses so much water it wouldn't hurt to reduce its size. I had the front re-done with drought-tolerant landscaping a year ago," he said.

"Have you lived there long?" she asked. William talked about his house. He had it for over five years. It was close to Culver City, where so much TV production happened. "It's also close enough that I can go to the Santa Monica beach and just chill if I need to."

"I think I just don't have an idea of the scale of things," Lizabeth remarked. They were silent for a few minutes, but it wasn't an uncomfortable one. Then she noticed that they were exiting onto Santa Monica Boulevard. "Really! Isn't this famous, like Wiltshire, and Hollywood and Vine, right?"

"Probably." William was non-committal. Like most people who lived in LA, he had become immune to oohing and aahing the iconography around him.

"Is our restaurant on Santa Monica Boulevard?"

"No. But this is probably the most straight-forward way to get there," he explained.

"Oh! What's that?" she cried as they passed a well-manicured driveway in between rows of ordinary businesses.

"Another cemetery," he answered. "Not as famous as Forest Lawn. It's the Hollywood Forever Cemetery." Forest Lawn was spread over 300 acres. Hollywood Forever was about fifty.

"Anyone famous buried there?" she asked as they drove.

"Lots of people," he answered.

"Like who?" Lizabeth challenged.

"Judy Garland."

"No way! Judy Garland? The Wizard of Oz? How do you know?"

"I've been there at least once." William thought he had visited in just such a scenario, on a date, but didn't want to say so.

"Anyone else?" she asked.

He racked his brains. "Mel Blanc."

"Who's he?"

"He did all of the voices for the Warner Brothers cartoons. Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, you know."

"Oh." Her voice was a mixture of disappointment and irritation.

"Your mother didn't approve of cartoons, did she?" William guessed where her thoughts were.

"No," she admitted.

"Rudolph Valentino?" He was going on the assumption that she wouldn't know who that was, but Lizabeth gasped even louder than she had at Judy Garland's name.

"No way! Oh my god, I had such a crush on Rudolph Valentino!" She rushed through her words. William was surprised. "Do you think we have time to go and see the grave? Is there enough light? Does the cemetery close at 6:00 p.m. or something?"

"No. I think we have time and can go see it." William found a place to turn around. "How do you know about Rudolph Valentino?"

"In college, I discovered a theater which showed old black and white movies. Once a week, they would show silent films, and a guy would play a live organ. There's something fun about that type of movie. They are so over the top." They parked and got out of the car. Lizabeth went through a quick series of pantomimes of a damsel in distress pleading for help, then a villain swaggering about, and finally a hero moving closer to his beloved to soothe and caress and eventually to kiss her.

William laughed. "That's quite unusual. I don't know anyone else who has seen a film made before 1990 besides Caroline."

"I love the old films," she gushed. "I know they're not realistic. Romance was so…everybody wore their heart on their sleeve, and it all worked out in the end. But it wasn't this complicated bullshit that modern life gives us."

William went from imagining two black and white figures sharing the same sort of chase kiss that he and Lizabeth had shared to thinking of several scenes from movies where two people were in love, yes, but where their passion destroyed one or the other (or both of them). "Not all modern relationships need to be complicated bullshit and damaging," he asserted. "And romance should be a part of any relationship."

They walked from the car towards Judy Garland's grave (He remembered where it was located, though he didn't recall where any of the others were).

So far, William hadn't attempted to snake a hand around a waist again or even hold her hand, but he stopped suddenly. Lizabeth looked at him, and he put out a hand to remove a wisp of hair off her cheek then cupped his hand there. He closed the distance between them, tightened his hands around her, and kissed Lizabeth Todd Bennet the way he had imagined since he laid eyes on her at the Griffith Observatory.

When he came up for air, he realized that he had closed his eyes as well. She opened hers slowly, which mimicked the way she opened her lips. They curved up in a smile; Lizabeth was pleased, and he had made her happy with a mere kiss. He smiled back.

"Shall we go find Valentino's grave?" They walked through the middle of the cemetery. A statue of a man holding a guitar was perched above one grave. Apparently this cemetery allowed all manner of stones to grace the tops of graves; it wasn't like Forest Lawn with their flat headstones.

"Johnny Ramone. Is he one of the singers from that band?" she asked as she stared at the statute. "I think my dad liked that band."

"I think that's him," he agreed. They found other names that they recognized: Douglas Fairbanks, father, and son. They discovered that they had to walk into a mausoleum to find Valentino. (He was across from Peter Lorre, another name she recognized.)

"You really liked Rudolph Valentino?" he pressed.

"He was intense and handsome and mysterious and romantic," she said, looking at the marble and brass area which indicated where his cremains lay.

No pressure on me thought William. "Maybe that was just the aura he produced when appearing on screen. Plus, he died young and tragically. There's something about dying young that makes us put people on pedestals. Like Jayne Mansfield; she has a plaque in here, though I don't think she's really buried here," he remarked.

Lizabeth's eyes were staring at the brass plaque. 'Rodolfo Guglielmi Valentino, 1895-1926.'

"We need icons to look up to. He was the icon for the 1920s. I know he's long gone, and it's been almost a hundred years since he died. But what would we do without icons?" she said.

Lizabeth smiled that light-up-her-whole-face smile. "Maybe it's the difference between fantasy and reality, but sometimes, when we have icons, it makes those tough days easier to get through. Like when another asshole comes in and asks the same question five different times, doesn't like my answer, so keeps asking, hoping for a different answer." She turned away from the plaque to look at William. "Sometimes, I think I have the wrong job. I spend all day by myself in a way, even though people come in to talk to me."

"You have the Judge," he pointed out.

"He's in his office listening to the police scanner most days. I think part of why I liked college was talking to people. Not that they didn't get on my nerves sometimes. People can rub you the wrong way, and you can't expect to like everyone or for everyone to like you back. But classes and group projects meant I got to be with people, experienced people."

"You like talking to people, don't you?" he asked, slipping a hand around her waist. They began to make their way back to the car.

"Yes. Though sometimes I only deal with people on a superficial level. I worry that I don't connect with people in a true, meaningful way at the recording office." She wrinkled her nose, which he noticed because his eyes were fixated on her face.

"You should try acting. Nothing more artificial, iconic, or distancing than acting. It's unreal. I wonder if that is why so many people are bad at it? Only the people who are inherently crooked or false or plastic are the ones who want to act. The decent but shy ones, like you," he swept a kiss on her shoulder, "would be fabulous in front of the lens."

"You think?" she laughed. Not her heart-warming laugh, but a self-conscious one.

On the way to the restaurant, Lizabeth shared a story about another woman who was just as interested in seeing silent films. She was older (old enough to be Lizabeth's grandmother), but she also liked Rudolph Valentino.

"Sally said that her grandparents got married the day Valentino died. Her grandmother wept all through the ceremony in front of the judge. She wept all through her wedding meal, which was just at a counter at Woolworth's. But Sally thought that her grandmother must not have wept through her wedding night as her father was born nine months after the wedding," Lizabeth chuckled.

"Was he named Rudolph?" William asked.

"I don't believe so. I think she once said her father's name was Harold."

"You really do like people," he remarked. Lizabeth was a curious person. Someone who liked to study people, talk to them and ferret out little stories like that one. William wondered if she had considered writing. She said she was a librarian by training; writing was related, wasn't it?


"What are tapas?" she asked once they had parked and walked to the restaurant. He explained that they were a meal of appetizers, but that you often ordered in a sort of prix fixe manner, but you chose what appetizers you wanted from specific categories.

Most of the items were noodles with a savory twist. William noticed she avoided anything marked spicy or anything from the seafood area. But they selected seven dishes, and he ordered some wine.

The dishes came quickly, and the two of them started sampling their items. Lizabeth asked him more intimate questions about himself, his background, any siblings? He shared about how he had lived in Merton when he was small, but that his mother had moved with him to Los Angeles just about when his memory started.

"Just your mother?" she asked.

"My parents never divorced, but they never lived together once we moved," he explained. "I sort of shuttled between them. Mostly I liked my Uncle Lewis; he was the strongest influence I had in my life. I would be sent up to visit Merton for holidays or a week or two during the summer."

"And no siblings, no brothers or sisters?"

"None." William shook his head before sipping his wine. "I'm guessing you don't have any. Something about you says 'only child.'"

"It's that spoiled princess pout," she responded, sticking out her lower lip in a defiant gesture. But one, he thought, that probably got her what she wanted with little effort. Lizabeth speared some noodles.

"Did you ever want a sister or brother?" he asked, copying her motions.

The food was swallowed as she pondered his question. "Not really," she answered truthfully.

"Why not? Afraid of competition?" He wondered why he asked that question. But he felt that Lizabeth was setting him some high hurdles to jump if she was interested—as he was—in a relationship. But his question to her was the sort that put her on the spot. Not the best first date material to cover.

"No." She didn't seem upset or embarrassed by the question. "You have to understand that I always had all eyes on me at all times when I grew up. I believed that having a sister or brother would mean that I would have another person telling me what to do." She speared another bite of noodles from a different bowl.

William felt like the air had been driven from his lungs. He thought all only children wished for siblings, and it would be especially true in Lizabeth's case because there would be somewhere else for those watchful parental eyes to go. It never occurred to him that a child would think that another person in the family would mean more intensity and focus around her. She had learned to observe and not engage in such an environment. It explained why she liked those self-styled, 'superficial relationships' at work.

But was she capable of more in-depth ones? But on the other hand, was he? William had never put much work into his past relationships. Dating his top actress was free publicity, but it was usually a relationship of two people who merely orbited around each other, not two hearts beating in tandem.

"Wow. Sometimes I think I had it tough because I was split between two houses. But it sounds like you were smothered in love—and not in a good way."

"The farther I get away from my house and my parents, the more I realize how screwed up I am. In other ways, not so much," she remarked. He got a meek smile then. "But did you ever want a brother?"

"Of course I did! I promised I would be good and never fight with him," William smiled. "But I had my cousins. I have always loved them and appreciated their being who they were and being in my life."

"I like my cousin, Tyler. Scott is still in high school. We're working on being friends," Lizabeth explained. They discussed their extended family then.

William shared more details about his cousins. Anne had been tested for things besides health concerns and was reckoned to have a high I.Q. The high school she had attended had been an exclusive one, hidden in Northern California, practically in the wilderness. But Anne had thrived there as best she could, given her health issues. College, however, had been a let-down, and though she had graduated, she had come home to roost next to her mother without finding any meaningful work to keep her mind engaged.

Ryan was a different matter. William reckoned he was just as intelligent as their cousin, but battle had changed him. "He felt lost and discarded by his family, which is why I think he went into the army. He did well and was recognized—but then was wounded in Afghanistan and lost the use of his legs. Sometimes, I look at him and am amazed that he keeps going every morning."

"He is admirable," Lizabeth remarked. William noticed the slight hesitancy in her voice in bolstering his positive portrait of his cousin.

"You don't agree with me?" he asked.

"He asked me out on a date when he knew I was seeing someone, that's all." She picked up her wine glass and stared down at it. "I met him that one time at the Metcalfe's baby shower. I don't know him, but at the time I didn't appreciate it or find it flattering. Even if I have since split with Edgar." She sipped.

William had a half dozen reasons to assert in Ryan's defense, but now the topic of her ex-boyfriend had been brought to the table. He wanted to get out of shark-infested waters. "Do you want to get dessert somewhere else?" he asked as the waiter approached their table. "Shall we try Santa Monica beach?"

"Sure," Lizabeth answered. He paid up, and they left.

They found enough topics to discuss in the car. She had downed a glass of wine, which made her cheeks glow almost as bright as her shirt. She had on a top, a simple skirt and sandals. Perhaps they might walk on the beach, though the weather might drop and make it too cold of a venture.

William knew the area near the beach well and knew exactly where to park. He wasted no opportunity, after closing her door but took Lizabeth in his arms again to taste her. She was relaxed and warm; her hands snaked up his chest. One wrapped around his neck as if to hold him so he couldn't get away and prevented him from removing his lips. She tasted of wine and curry and pleasure.

When he stepped back, he noticed that she had her handbag slung over one shoulder. "You might want to wear that across your chest. Better yet, under your coat. You're not used to big city living." She frowned as though she didn't appreciate the lecture, but moved the strap of her purse over her head to her other shoulder. "Let's go," he said, with an arm around her waist.

They wound their way down the sidewalk towards the ocean. The sun had set, and the last of the residual light was just leaving the sky, but there were dozens of lights from shops and street lamps.

"I wanted to come here, but Lyle thought..." Lizabeth whispered, then left her sentence unfinished while she looked around her with the wide-eyes of a tourist.

"Everyone gets to be a tourist. It's okay," he said, holding her a little tighter. They crossed Ocean Boulevard and walked along its wide edges underneath the palms planted there.

"It's like a scene from a movie," she whispered. They walked in silence for a few minutes. "Where are we going?"

"The pier. It's iconic, so I thought you would like it," William answered with a grin. "I'm not sure if there is dessert to be had there, though." He squeezed her against him again. Then William took advantage of wine in his blood, and the general ambiance of the place and swept Lizabeth into his arms for another kiss. Kisses with her were new and sweet. Running the tip of his tongue against hers sent thrills through him and heated his blood.

Lizabeth was suddenly wrenched from his arms and fell to the ground. A young man, who had fallen to one side on his bicycle, quickly righted himself and rode away. William leaned over to help her stand. "Did he bump into you?" he asked.

"No." Her voice was small and scared. "He grabbed the strap of my purse and tried to take it."

"Are you hurt?" he cried. William had his hands on her but now looked her over more carefully. Her knees looked red, the side of her skirt had dirt on it, but she didn't look bruised or bloodied. "Does your shoulder hurt?"

Lizabeth reached up to gently life her purse strap off her shoulder and then moved it around. "I think it's okay. I will probably have a bruise there, and on my hip where I landed." Her chin was down, but she looked up at him with eyes that were on the verge of tears. "It's…invasive and ugly…a violation, to think someone would just steal something right off of me like that." She gathered her purse up against her chest in a protective gesture even though she was still wearing it strapped across her body.

"Want to jettison the pier and go somewhere else? How about my house, which is safe and warm?" It had cooled considerably, though William didn't think the shiver that ran through her was due to the cooling weather. He hadn't intended to take her to his house. That was too forward for a first date, especially with her. But the situation was different now. "I can rustle up some dessert at home; then I'll drive you back to your hotel."

His arm cradled her shoulders as he looked down at her. It had been an interesting date; he had envisioned many scenarios with Lizabeth, but none of them had occurred. Perhaps that was because reality never played out the way you planned it, step by step. There had even been a small hope, nursed at the back of his head, that this might be an 'away game' evening as Charles christened them. Nights one spent at a lady's house. It would be neutral territory for both he and Lizabeth if William spent the night in her hotel room since he had been to her house once before as a friend. He had feared that inviting her to his might cause her to believe he was pressuring her.

But their dynamic had changed because of the thief on the bike. She had nothing to say in reply as he talked on the short drive to his house. She still clutched her purse to her chest, having passed the seatbelt over it when she strapped herself in. He had another thought; he should offer to take her back to her hotel. That subject was mentioned as they neared the exit from the freeway. Since William was driving, he couldn't see her response.

"No. I don't want to end the evening on a sour note," Lizabeth replied.


A/N: the little story about Lizabeth's friend, Sally, who had a grandmother who wept all through her wedding day is a family story from my husband's family. His Grandmother Jeanne had such a crush on Valentino that she devastated to hear that he had died the morning of her wedding. Family lore is that she wept all day. Her son was born a year later though, not nine months after the wedding. Maybe Jeanne wept all night?

I hope everyone is doing well. While I get out on walks, isolation is getting to me. Friends just scheduled a 7-way Zoom meeting for Wednesday just so we can all chat and catch up.