His jaw fell open despite his attempt to keep it shut. “Pardon me?”
Alan offered a faint smile. “Don’t look so shocked. I’ve told you before how much I enjoy your screen performances.”
“Yeah, but I thought…” he trailed off.
“You thought I was bullshitting?” Alan finished, his smile widening. “I wasn’t. You truly are a fine actor, son. And the moment I finished reading the script, I knew I wanted you to be in the film.”
Before Ben could answer, a mechanical rendition of a Beethoven symphony broke out. With an apologetic look, Goodrich reached into the inner pocket of the navy-blue blazer he wore and extracted a cell phone. “I need to take this.”
As the director stood up and exited the room, Ben rubbed his forehead, still a little stunned. Alan Goodrich had just offered him a role in his new movie? Sure, there was bound to be action in the war epic, the gunfire and explosions he’d grown used to, but there would also be depth to it. Not to mention the respect and prestige working with a director of Alan’s caliber provided. Just having his name attached to an Alan Goodrich project would certainly make the critics take him seriously, even if he was Bad Boy Ben Barrett.
Hell, with all that recognition, maybe the media would finally drop the alliteration-heavy nickname and see him as simply Ben Barrett, actor.
“I’m going to have to cut this meeting short,” came Goodrich’s rueful voice.
Ben turned to see the director standing in the doorway, still holding his cell phone. Getting to his feet, he walked toward Alan and extended his hand. “Not a problem. I’ve got somewhere to be anyway.”
Alan gave his hand a firm shake. “I’ll be in touch about the film. We’ll probably start shooting at the end of the summer. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.”
Ben left the Goodrich estate feeling like he was walking on air. During the past half hour an enormous weight had lifted off his chest, the weight of discontent and frustration over a career that had strayed off in a direction Ben had never wanted. But it was back on track again, and soon the other pieces of his life would fall back into place.
First things first, though. He had a press conference to attend.
Maggie approached the front steps of the Broger Center the next morning and spotted a half dozen reporters milling about, a sight that made her frown. Didn’t these people have lives? Homes to go to, kids to take care of? Fortunately she’d finally showered and changed her clothes, but at this point she’d rather look grimy and gross on television than listen to more accusations from the press.
She hadn’t slept a wink last night, not when she still missed Ben, not when she was swamped with regret about asking him to leave. After lying in bed until one a.m., she’d finally decided enough was enough. She’d reached for the phone, intending to call Ben, only to realize that she didn’t have his damn phone number!
She’d dragged Summer out of bed to help her search the Internet, and though they’d spent hours looking for a contact number, all they got was a fan mail address. And when they’d finally hit pay dirt and learned the name of Ben’s agent, it had been too late to call.
Of course, that meant another sleepless night, which only got worse when she rolled her exhausted body out of bed this morning and heard Gloria’s voice on her answering machine.
Now, seeing all the reporters on the front steps only made her bad mood a hundred times worse.
“Did you know Ben Barrett was donating his inheritance to the community center?” one of the reporters shouted at her approach.
She stopped for a second. What the hell was this guy talking about?
“Maggie,” someone else called. “Were you aware that Ben’s father was a bigamist?”
Huh?
Not bothering to respond, she walked into the center and immediately headed for the main office, her head swimming. How did they find out about Ben’s father? And what on earth did they mean he’d donated his inheritance to the center?
“Maggie, I’m glad you came in!” Gloria chirped when she entered her office.
The expression on the facilitator’s olive-colored face was so jubilant, Maggie’s confusion doubled. She sat in the visitor’s chair and tried to paste on a cheerful expression. Hard, when she was feeling anything but cheerful.
“I take it the reporters are still harassing everyone,” she sighed, avoiding Gloria’s eyes.
The older woman waved a dismissive hand. “They’ll go away sooner or later.”
Maggie’s eyebrows shot to her forehead. Had she somehow been transported to a different planet during the night? A few days ago, Gloria had spoken of the media’s presence as if it were the anti-Christ. This morning, she seemed unperturbed and relaxed about the entire situation.