CHAPTER 7
The next location scene was taking a long time to set up. The assistant director cautioned Michael to stay in the area because he might be needed at any moment. Michael grunted and looked at the prop cell phone in his hand. If he had a real one he could call Marc and see if he'd located the mystery blonde.
Michael milled around aimlessly and drank several cups of coffee. The camera crew and the lighting crew seemed to be at odds over something. Michael found an empty chair and sat down on the sidelines. The issue was finally resolved after much discussion and finger-pointing.
"Let's do it then," called the chief cameraman.
A wardrobe girl and a hairstylist rushed over to Michael and began fussing over him. The wardrobe girl made him stand while she removed some lint from his black suit. The hairstylist toyed with his shoulder-length locks. "We really have to do something about these split ends," she fretted.
"Umm," said Michael. What did he care about split ends?
"Now you're perfect!" gushed the wardrobe girl, eyeing him critically from head to toe.
"Yo, Michael! Shake a leg!" called the assistant director from across the street.
Michael nodded, then turned to the women. "Merci, ladies."
Nikita returned to her apartment and sat down heavily on the couch. Almost immediately, she burst into tears. Emotionally, this day had been a roller coaster – from the elation of getting a big-time modeling contract to the anger and heartbreak of Giancarlo's betrayal.
After a few minutes, Nikita felt relieved and exhausted. She sighed and went down the hall to the bathroom where she splashed cold water on her face and neck. Then she went into the bedroom, kicked off her shoes, and fell across the bed, face down.
"Your big action-sequence is postponed until Sunday," said the assistant director after the scene wrapped.
"What's going on?" asked Michael.
"Wolfe just got word that his daughter is in labor – first grandchild. He's on his way back to Toronto. So, it looks like you get a day off."
"I won't argue with that," said Michael. "There are some things I want to do at the farm anyway."
"Right. See you at 8 a.m. Sunday," said the assistant director before moving off.
Michael now caught sight of Marc. He shrugged and gave a thumb down gesture. "Sorry, Michael. I didn't see anyone who looked like your blonde."
"Are you sure? She's the kind who would definitely stand out in a crowd," said Michael, a crestfallen expression on his face.
"Positive. She probably disappeared into one of those fancy department stores over there," said Marc.
"Okay," sighed Michael. "Thanks for trying."
In an attempt to be encouraging Marc added, "You never know, maybe she'll turn up at the next location shoot!"
A small pink tongue caressed Nikita's cheek. Slowly, she opened her eyes. "Okay, okay, I'm awake." She rolled over and Max began pawing at her hair. "I don't bug you when you're sleeping," she complained to the feline.
As she sat up she felt the rumble of an empty stomach. She glanced at the clock and realized she had been asleep for a couple of hours. She went to the kitchen and began opening cabinets to see what she had to eat. Unfortunately, nothing spoke to her. Then she saw the "Sal's Pizza" magnet on the refrigerator.
Yeah, that sounds good, she thought. She retrieved her shoes, pulled her hair into a ponytail and was out the door.
"I didn't know you worked here, Louise," said Nikita.
"Nikita! Well, this is a surprise," answered Louise. To a passing waitress she said, "Would you take this to the couple at table five?"
Turning back to Nikita she continued, "Oh, I'm just filling in. Sal is my cousin and he has a nasty intestinal bug. I didn't make it to the track this morning. Had to be here early to get the ball rolling, you know." She stopped and stared at Nikita. "Have you been crying?"
Nikita sighed and nodded. "Oh Louise, you can't even imagine what kind of day I had."
"Come on, sit over here, sweetie. I'll have Carmine fix you a big plate of spaghetti. His meatballs are to die for."
Louise informed her cousin's son, Carmine, that she was now off-duty and went to join Nikita in a corner booth. The two women cried and laughed together about the events of Nikita's day. The restaurant was fairly crowded and noisy at this hour. They were so engrossed in conversation that they did not notice the man who now approached the take-away counter.
He was wearing a blue plaid work shirt, faded jeans with a tear in one knee, dusty work boots, and a Montréal Canadiens cap. His hair was longish and some stubble was evident on his face.
The young man behind the counter knew the customer, but didn't make a big deal about it. "Hey man, what's up?" he asked in a jovial manner. "Seen any good movies lately?"
Michael smirked. "What do you think?"
"Here you go," said the young man and handed Michael the bag. "When's your next one coming out?"
"End of the year, if we're on schedule," replied Michael.
The phone on the counter started ringing and the young man reached for it. "Good luck, man."
Michael nodded. "Keep the change," he said and slipped out the door.
CHAPTER 8
Nikita finished the plate of spaghetti and meatballs and laid her napkin aside. "That was really delicious, Louise." She tugged at the waistband of her pants. "I may have to unzip these a bit."
Louise beamed with satisfaction at the compliment. "I'll be sure to tell Carmine. You know, I have a great idea. Artie's leaving in the morning on a fishing trip with his brother. Why don't we have a "Michael" film festival at my house?"
"Don't you have to help out here?" asked Nikita.
"Oh, I can get them through the lunch rush, then Carmine and his sister can handle the dinner crowd. Let's see, I have most of his stuff on tape or DVD . . ."
"And I could check at Blockbuster for what you don't have," Nikita nodded with enthusiasm. "I like this idea."
"Hmm . . . I wish I knew how to get in touch with Yoko and I'd invite her," said Louise.
"She'll probably be walking at the track in the morning," replied Nikita.
Louise nodded. "You're right. Maybe she can escape from her husband for a few hours. He seemed like an uptight kind of guy."
"That's an understatement!" giggled Nikita.
Louise laughed, too. "But he's probably a very nice man, once you get to know him."
"Okay, this is what I have," said Louise. She took a pen from her pocket and started making a list on the back of a menu.
The young man who had been working the take-away counter strolled by and overheard their conversation. "So, you ladies like Michael Samuelle?" he asked with a grin on his face. "He was here about ten minutes ago."
"WHAT?" said Louise and Nikita at the same time.
"Oh yeah, he picked up an order of lasagne," said the young man. "The super-sized portion."
Louise eyed him skeptically. "Joey, are you pulling my leg? Because if you are . . ."
"No way, Louise. I swear Michael Samuelle was here and it's not the first time. Ask Carmine – he served him and his girlfriend about a month ago. Said he was a good tipper, too."
Louise threw up her hands. "Why didn't you tell us?!"
Joey was amused by the anxious expressions on the women's faces. "Hey, I didn't know you were fans." He paused and winked at Louise. "Want me to introduce you the next time?"
Waving him off, Louise said, "Get outta here. You've got customers," and pointed to the side door. "That Joey's such a prankster that I don't know whether to believe him or not," she sighed.
"What about Carmine?" asked Nikita.
"Yes, he'll tell me the truth. He's a straight shooter," agreed Louise. She slid out of the booth and looked toward the kitchen. "Be right back."
Five minutes later she returned wearing a big smile. "Carmine confirmed it – Michael Samuelle was here tonight! Said he caught of glimpse of him as he was leaving and that he's been here a couple of times before! He even described what he was wearing."
Nikita propped her chin in her hands and exclaimed. "I can't believe we didn't notice him and he was only a few feet away."
"Not to worry - you'll be seeing ALL of him tomorrow, if you know what I mean," chuckled Louise. She pulled out a pad and wrote down her address and phone number and gave it to Nikita.
"Umm . . . that should be very interesting," giggled Nikita. "How about if I make some brownies? That's one of the few things I don't screw up."
"Excellent. Michael Samuelle and chocolate – what more could a gal need?" laughed Louise.
It was after dark when Michael reached his isolated farmhouse south of Montréal. His two dogs and two cats came out to greet him and he fed them before digging into the lasagne from Sal's Pizza. He enjoyed cooking for family and friends, but since Camille had left he wasn't in the mood for preparing solitary meals.
After eating, he drank a cup of coffee and began sorting through the stack of mail on the kitchen counter. But his mind kept drifting back to the attractive blonde. What was her name? Where did she live? Was she involved with anyone? Marc had suggested that she might be a nosy reporter. Michael hoped not.
Why am I worrying about it? It was only coincidence that I saw her twice.
Yawning, he decided to take a shower and go to bed. He would get up early in the morning and work in his vegetable garden and cut down some small trees. Since the master bathroom was still under renovation, Michael was forced to use the guest bath at the opposite end of the house.
Flipping the light switch, his eyes instantly fell on the hairbrush lying by the sink. Looking around, he spotted a terry cloth robe and a black Victoria's Secret bra hanging on the hook behind the door. He frowned in annoyance. That chapter of his life was over. He promptly gathered the items and went out to the side of the garage and dropped them unceremoniously in the garbage can.
"Hasta la vista, ba-by!" he said, mimicking one of his favorite Hollywood actors, and slammed the lid down.
"Want to watch "Terminator" with me?" he asked the dogs as he passed their beds. The puppy jumped up and trotted behind him into the media room.
Nikita was in a vastly improved mood when she returned home. She decided that tonight she would tackle the mountain of laundry, then she would be free to bake brownies and search for "Michael" videos in the morning.
Max offered his help by jumping into the laundry basket and pawing through the clothes even as Nikita was trying to sort them. "Will you stop that?" she asked and lifted him out.
At the bottom of the heap, she came across a sweatshirt with the Ferrari logo on the front. It was one of Giancarlo's that she worn home from a race a few weeks back. She held it up and regarded it with disgust.
"Oh, I don't think so," she said emphatically. "I think we both know where this belongs," she said and glanced down at Max. With that, she marched downstairs, went behind the apartment building and pitched the sweatshirt over into the dumpster.
Now if I could only do that to Giancarlo.
When Nikita got back upstairs the phone was ringing. From the caller id she saw that it was her sister, Michelle.
"Are you okay? I just saw Giancarlo's picture in The Snoop," she asked breathlessly.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I confronted him at his apartment. It got kinda ugly for a while, but I put that slimeball in his place," Nikita said with a triumphant note in her voice.
"Way to go, sis. Daddy will be relieved, too. He warned you about dating a racecar driver. He said the track wasn't the only place where they were fast."
Nikita sighed. "Now isn't that ironic since his company is a Formula One sponsor?"
"Yeah, go figure. But you know how protective he is of us." Changing the subject, Michelle blurted out with a giggle, "That girl had boobs the size of cantaloupes! Obviously fake."
"Obviously," agreed Nikita.
"You wanna go shopping with me tomorrow?" asked Michelle. "I need some new shoes."
"New shoes? You must have a hundred pairs already," Nikita pointed out.
"No, I don't" said Michelle defensively. "Only 92."
"Big deal! Sure, I need to do some shopping of my own," replied Nikita and explained about the film festival.
"Great. I'll pick you up at ten."
"See you then, Imelda," laughed Nikita.
Myrna was in her home office talking to her friend and former college roommate, Joyce. "Can you hang on a minute?" She got up and went out into the hall and leaned over the bannister. "Turn that music down! I'm trying to work up here," she yelled. Her two sons were in the family room and the volume quickly went down by several decibels.
"Thank you."
She went back and picked up the phone. "Sorry, Joyce. Now what were you saying about Michael?"
"He's not with her anymore," confided Joyce.
"Oh, really? I didn't know that."
"Apparently, they had a big fight and she moved back to San Diego. All I know is that he wasn't his usual self when he came to the office last week to finalize plans for the charity event."
"Well, I only met her once, but I wasn't impressed," said Myrna.
Joyce sighed. "A lot of people are saying the same thing now that she's out of the picture. It's quite a shame. He's such a genuinely nice guy and I feel he deserves someone special."
Myrna was trying to tidy up her desk as she talked. As she picked up a stack of folders, a couple of photographs fluttered out. Myrna picked them up and studied them for a moment.
"You're right, Joyce. He does deserve someone special."