Forgetting Jack Cooper: The Soulmate Edition Page 6

  “Well…that’s certainly fair.” I sighed, unwilling and unable at this point to hold onto my mad. Not when I could hold on to the memory of Jack’s kisses, instead. His kisses and his adorably puffy-faced smile. “Just…don’t make it a habit, okay? Otherwise we won’t have enough film of you to make an animated gif, much less a video package.”

  He gave me a jaunty salute, but his gaze on me was intent enough to bring back the dancing butterflies. “As you wish,” he said softly.

  I nearly groaned out loud. We totally should have gotten that on camera. If only for me to replay over and over again, for the rest of my life.

  We left the next morning to fly to Libertyville, a tiny little burg approximately fifty-two miles outside of the middle of nowhere. Here, Jack would be making nice with Genevieve Jones, an actress he’d once casually dated, who’d lost her standing in the industry after getting caught bad-mouthing a long-time darling of stage and theatre, Dame Agatha Kelly.

  As this was Jack’s last stop on his apology tour, and since we’d lost some of the footage I’d counted on from the high school reunion, I had several cards up my sleeve. And, I suspected, so did Jack.

  The reporter we’d engaged to document the event happened to be the man who’d originally broken the story of Ginny’s downfall, a Brit named J. Harrison Law, aka “Jude”, who was, not coincidentally, Dame Agatha’s nephew.

  Yes. Jude Law (no relation to the actor), nephew to an outraged diva, thrown into the mix of two estranged exes and a publicity director desperate to capture every horrible, awkward moment of the three of them, or at least enough so we could get back on the road and piece it all back together back in LA like a schizophrenic jigsaw puzzle. There were times during this redemption tour that felt like I was directing a reality TV show.

  But now it was show time. You can do this, I thought sternly to myself as Jack sat down with the reporter in the only suite in the hotel. If Jack can, you can.

  “Ready?” Jude asked.

  Jack gave a low self-deprecating laugh. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “So, Jack, what brings you to—” The reporter glanced down at his notes. “Ah, Libertyville?”

  Jack nodded and seemed to resign himself, settling in like the pro he was. “It’s a long story, actually. I should probably start at the beginning.”

  “By all means.”

  “It all started with a part—” Jack began—

  I moved around them, shooting video. I’d imagined that Law would come with his own videographer, but apparently, this was only going to be making the print version of the man’s magazine, and not their cable affiliate.

  “And that’s where the idea for this redemption tour came from,” Jack said, drawing my attention again. “As many of my fans know, I don’t drink, I don’t party, making amends to those I’ve wronged in my life is how I can find my way into the character—a man who destroyed his own happiness with his addiction and is just trying to find his way back, one apology at a time.”

  “Powerful stuff,” the reported said with a nod, but he seemed distracted. Extremely distracted, while Jack was doing everything he could to get good video. I had an intense desire to haul off and kick him with my pointy toed heel. He was barely going through the motions with this interview. He wasn’t even trying to get something interesting out of it. What was the point?

  Jack didn’t let the interviewer’s lack of interest in his subject slow him down. He nodded back enthusiastically and launched into a description of what he was trying to accomplish, finally wrapping it up with a smile I’d grown to love so much it’d probably haunt me for months. Maybe years.

  “And there you have it,” Jack said. “The whole bumpy ride.”

  “You still haven’t told me what we’re doing in Libertyville.”

  “It’s the next stop on my tour,” Jack explained. “I’m here to make amends with Genevieve Jones.”

  That got Jude’s attention. The reporter sat up, and leaned forward.

  “Genevieve Jones, the actress? The one who was in all the tabloids six months ago after she was caught on tape calling Dame Agatha Kelly a raging bitch?”

  Jack held up his hands. “I know her name has been mud lately, but I know Ginny and she did not deserve what happened to her after that tape came out.” He grimaced. “And I certainly didn’t help.”

  “You two were dating back then?”

  “We were just very good friends,” Jack corrected and I couldn’t help but want to ask about the details. “We’d recently finished filming a project together and had become quite close.”

  How close? I wondered.

  “So why do you have to make amends? Isn’t she the one who called one of our cinematic treasures a raging bitch?” For being so distracted before, the reporter seemed to relish that specific phrase. Did he have something against Ginny in particular? Probably, since he’d been the one to post the audio file that had tanked her career. Or was he still that outraged over his aunt? I’d met Dame Agatha in person before. The woman didn’t need this weenie to rage on her behalf.

  “I know she said that, but there must have been extenuating circumstances. And I should have been there for her. As her friend. I flew overseas to film on location and we drifted apart, right when she needed me most.”

  “So she’s here. In Libertyville. Genevieve Jones.”

  Seeming to note the reporter’s sudden tension, Jack nodded. “She’s reframing her career after the incident last year,” he said charitably. “And she’s been acting in a low-budget indie project that’s filming here.” He sat forward. “I’m going to surprise her on set this afternoon. I’ve already arranged it with the director.”

  “That sounds like quite a dramatic reunion. Any chance you can sneak me on set too?”

  Jack smiled. “It’s already arranged.”

  “Excellent.” The man actually beamed, the first energy he’d really exhibited so far. What was his problem? I wondered. I debated whether or not to send a camera to tail him. Maybe I should get into filming reality TV shows.

  They went through parting pleasantries, wrapping up the interview, and Jude stood, collecting his cell phone and turning off the recorder. I fell into step beside him to walk him out.

  The Brit waited until we were at the door to the suite and Jack had disappeared into the bedroom. Then he lowered his voice, and asked dramatically, “Did you know?”

  “Know what?” I asked, digging deep for whatever acting gene I might have inherited from my mother. Where was the camera when I needed it?

  “About my history with Genevieve Jones.” He waited a beat and dropped his bombshell. “I was the one who posted the tape.”

  Um, that was his bombshell? His name was attributed when he uploaded the audio file, for heavens’ sake. My grandma in Palm Springs knew the morning after it all happened the name of the intrepid reporter who broke the story.

  “What are you hoping for exactly?” he continued, spearing me with the kind of earnestness that seemed second nature to Englishmen, whether earned or not.

  “A good story?” I hazarded.

  “Is that a question?”

  His nervousness struck me oddly—and then I suddenly wondered: was Jude feeling remorse? Jack may have left Ginny Jones high and dry, but this man had actually stalled out her career. Was he having second thoughts about his scoop of the century? If so, from what I’d seen of Ginny, he had more to worry about than Jack did.

  Still, I knew immediately, this was going to be good video. Even if it killed me…which it probably would.

  I gave the man my best publicity-perfect smile. “Just do your job, Mr. Law. We’ll see you on set at two.”

  Chapter Eleven: Jack

  “Jack.” Ginny’s faced flashed a thousand emotions in a microsecond. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Ginny,” I said. “I was hoping we could talk.”

  She nodded. “Of course. My dressing room is right back here.”

  I fell into s
tep beside her, while Jude trailed along behind like a good little doobie. Ginny opened a small door with a white sheet of paper taped to it, her name scribbled on the front. I held the door as she stepped inside, then followed her.

  I chanced a glance back at Ruth, worried that she’d be angry at the lack of cameras, but she just gave me a quick nod from her place behind her cell phone.

  Ginny faced me, her expression far more calculating than it had been when the cameras were rolling. “What are you doing here, Jack?”

  “I’m looking for redemption.” Even as I said the words, I wanted to wince, but this was my job. I was a professional. And I wasn’t going to let Ruth down again.

  Ginny gave me a quizzical frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m on a redemption tour,” I said. “Making amends with everyone I’ve ever wronged.”

  The frown turned into more of a wry grimace. “Are you sure you want to patch things up with me? Being seen with me isn’t going to help your reputation.”

  “I’m not here for my reputation. Well, not exactly. It’s for a part,” I began, ready to explain. To my surprise, however, Ginny cut me off.

  “What do you need me to do?” she asked briskly. When I didn’t respond right away, she continued, her tone taking on the slightest edge. “I’ll play along, just tell me what role you want me to play. Are you magnanimously taking me back? Are we just friends? What’s my part?”

  I looked at her for a long moment, feeling worse by the second. “Were you always this jaded? Or did I do this to you?”

  Ginny waved off my comment. “It isn’t always about you, Jack,” she said. “I’ve had a shitty few months, okay? I screwed up. Big time. That’s on me. And now I’m just trying to pick up the pieces. You wanna help with that? Awesome. Just let me know what you need me to do.”

  A knock sounded on the door. “Two minutes, Ginny!” someone called.

  She acknowledged the time, then turned back to me.

  “I should get back to set,” she said. “This may be an indie film with no budget to speak of, but it’s still a job.”

  “I don’t want to interfere with your work,” I said. “Maybe we can talk tonight?”

  “Sure. Whatever you need.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  In that moment, I couldn’t help think how different Ginny was from Ruth. So much less…genuine, in a way. So used to building up walls that she didn’t even realize they were there. Perhaps that’s why I found myself obsessed with Ruth. All my years in Hollywood had made me numb to its lack of candor.

  Either way, I owed Ginny because I hadn’t been there when she needed me the most. I wanted—needed—to make that up to her, if I could. And if I couldn’t, then I at least needed to try.

  I led her out of her dressing room, dropping a perfunctory kiss on her cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Sure,” she murmured.

  Ruth disappeared after we returned to the hotel, and it took some time before I located her sitting on the outdoor patio next to the hotel, toasting her melbas in front of a small decorative fire pit. A glass of red wine sat untouched on the small cocktail table beside her chair.

  “Can I join you?” I asked.

  She nodded, but her manner was stiff, her face guarded—what I could see of it. She didn’t look away from the fire.

  “Um…is there something wrong?”

  A waiter scampered over before she could reply. “Hello, Mr. Cooper. Can I take your order?”

  “Club soda with a twist,” I said.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Ruth finally replied after the waiter backed away. She barely glanced my way.

  “Uh huh. And you are a lousy liar.”

  She smiled wanly at that, then looked up, blinking as Jude Law bustled over to us.

  “Is Ginny back yet?” he asked, dropping into a chair on the other side of Ruth, without asking if we wanted company. Frankly, I didn’t want company, especially not his company. I wanted to find out what was bothering Ruth.

  “Not yet. A few of the crew have trickled back in the last few minutes,” Ruth said. “I’d expect her shortly.”

  The publicity woman speaks.

  But would she speak to me?

  “Ruth…” I tried again.

  Ruth looked up.

  “There she is!” Jude interrupted.

  I looked up and saw Ginny and another woman walking up toward the hotel.

  “Ginny!” I called.

  “I’ll see you later, Ginny,” her companion said, never once taking her eyes off me.

  “Right. G’night, Monica,” Ginny murmured before making her way to us. If she felt it was odd that Jude was with us, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she gave me a weary smile.

  “You’re causing quite a furor among the crew,” she said as I gestured to the final empty seat in our grouping. “They’ve been playing six degrees of Kevin Bacon all afternoon since they figured out they’re only one link away from you through me.”

  I frowned. “Didn’t they already know we’d worked together?”

  Ginny shrugged, taking the seat across from me. “I was barely in Dax Scott after the editors got through with it. I think most people forgot that I was working with you and Dame Agatha when The Tape came out. That sort of eclipsed everything else.”

  I leaned forward in my chair. “Speaking of The Tape, I have a plan.”

  “Jack…”

  “I want to do what I should have done six months ago.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ll see. Tomorrow.” I looked over at Ruth, who refused to make eye contact.

  Ginny seemed equally unsure. “I don’t like surprises.”

  “Trust me. This is a good surprise.” My phone rang in my pocket and I dug it out, for once grateful for the interruption. “That’s my agent. Excuse me.”

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t warn her? Give her time to prepare something to say?” Jude asked—again. He’d been asking me the same question in one way or another all morning, and I was starting to fear he might be right.

  Still, I was committed. I had to make this right for Ginny, and this was the only way I could think that would do it. “Trust me. It’s better if it’s a surprise.”

  “Reconciliation doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that should be sprung on someone,” Jude argued, even though Ginny knew I was here exactly for reconciliation. She wouldn’t be surprised, not really.

  Would she?

  “This way she doesn’t have the chance to worry about it or make herself nervous,” I argued as I moved around the room, pacing behind Ruth as she set everything up. I’m not sure what I was more nervous about. Whether Ruth would open up about what was irritating her, or how this would go.

  “Ginny strikes me as the kind of person who would rather be prepared.”

  “Trust me. I know her.” Better than you do, anyway. “She’s not a planner, she’s a feeler. She’ll love this. It’s cinematic. She loves this stuff.” As I spoke, I began to suspect I was trying to convince myself as much as Jude, but at this point, there was no backing out.

  I am a professional, I reminded myself, sneaking a glance over to Ruth again. I’m not going to let anyone down again.

  “I just think—” Jude began again, but an imperious knock at the door cut him off.

  “That’ll be Agatha.” Oh, God. I hoped this went the way I wanted it to.

  I opened the door to find a handsome woman in her sixties, impeccably dressed in a flowing white caftan, simple gold jewelry and a sharp gaze.

  “Agatha.”

  “Jack, darling.”

  I got an air kiss on each cheek for my trouble as Ruth circled the outside of the room, her cell phone recording the moment for posterity.

  Jude came forward. “Agatha.”

  “Jude.” She smiled at him with a great deal of affection in her gaze. “It’s been too long. You’ve been spending too much time in Los Angeles.”

  He bent down to h
ug her. “I can’t keep up with you—filming in Mumbai one day and Budapest the next. Besides, L.A. is where the stories are.”

  “Except when they’re here, apparently.” Her brow arched as she released him. “Libertyville.”

  “Thank you so much for coming all this way,” I interjected. “This will mean the world to Ginny.”

  “Agatha, about that,” Jude began, “Ginny doesn’t know that…”

  He trailed and we all turned to face the door to see what had derailed him.

  Agatha was the first to speak into the silence.

  “Hello, Genevieve,” she said, every inch the frosty matriarch.

  Ginny stood in the open doorway with a stunned look of horror on her face. Before I could say anything, she turned and ran.

  “Shit.” With a speed that caught even me off guard, Jude raced after her.

  In the wake of their departure the silence was nothing short of deafening. Finally, I filled the empty space with words. “I should have warned her.”

  “Do you really think so?” said Agatha in a deadpan.

  I winced, then lifted my head to rub the back of my neck. “Why does sarcasm seem so much classier in a British accent?”

  “Dah-hling…” She drew the word out as long as she could. “Everything sounds classer in a British accent.”

  We exchanged a few more words, but I realized I wanted to run off to find Ginny with every bit as much speed as Jude, if only to finally get the words that were crushing my heart in my chest. I’d wanted—I’d wanted this to be perfect. Cinematic. Emotional. Cathartic. Instead…I stifled a groan. I’d miscalculated. Again. And Ginny was hurting…again.

  As soon as I reasonably could, I said my goodbyes to Dame Agatha and left the room, lifting a hand to Ruth. She didn’t try to stop me, and I appreciated that. There was no end to the things I was beginning to appreciate about Ruth.

  I finally caught up to Ginny at her hotel, calling out for her to stop.

  For a moment, I thought she was going to ignore me. Then, she whirled on her heel, not even caring that we were on the front step of the hotel where anyone could see us as she launched into me with both barrels.