“In London maybe, but here in Bristol…You can get a haircut,” she combed her fingers through his Hollywood hair, “lose the designer stubble, maybe we can get you some glasses.” She wiggled her finger at him.
“Like a disguise?” he asked warily.
“Yeah!” Ruby sounded excited, chirping up, almost bouncing off her seat. “Some people are going to say you look like you, but you can deny it. Change your clothes – you can’t wear Armani.”
“Not sure I like that idea.”
“If you want to fit in, and be normal,” she quoted with her fingers, “and want someone to love you for who you are, not what you are, you’re going to need to make some changes. And don’t flash your money around.”
“Hmmm…I’m seeing your point of view here.”
“You’ll need to get a job, because sitting around in a fancy hotel isn’t going to work either.”
“Yeah, I could get a job.” But how? Steve rubbed the stubble on his chin.
Ruby frowned. “Interviews are tough though, everyone will need references.”
“What about where you work, could you get me a job?” He smiled his Hollywood smile, looking her in the eye, knowing the true effect of his blue eyes – it always worked.
“That smile and those eyes don’t work on me. I’m your sister, remember?”
Hmm…He’d forgotten his sister was immune to him trying to get his own way. “But as I’m your brother, you could get me a job?”
Some time ago, he’d received a letter, an update from Ruby. She’d told him about her life and work, how she was happy running a small hotel on the outskirts of Bristol.
Managing meant hiring and firing, right?
She let out a deep breath. “Yes, I could get you a job, I suppose. But it’s only a small hotel; we don’t really need anyone at the moment—”
“I don’t need paying, just get me in so I’m doing something – meeting people, making friends.”
“Sure,” Ruby said, mimicking an American accent with a sly smile.
“Stop doing that!”
“What?” She did it again, drawing out the word in an American accent. A poor American accent, Steve might add.
“I don’t sound like that.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“It’s not funny, Ruby.” He looked at her sternly, giving her the ‘big brother hating being teased by his little sister’ glare.
“I’m sorry, but you sound all American,” she reverted to her Bristol tone, laughing. She nudged him. “So how long can you stay in the UK?”
“Three months – max! I’ve got three months to find the woman of my dreams, then I’m back to Hollywood.”
“Make the most of tonight.” She chinked her glass of orange juice against his tumbler of scotch. “It’s your last night as a Hollywood hunk.”
Steve cupped Erica’s face, his thumb gently rubbing her cheek. Out the corner of his eye, he could see on the horizon the dust rising into the sky. Flores and his men were coming. He shoved the car into drive, and was about to kiss those perfect, ripe lips, when his phone started ringing.
He didn’t have his phone – did he? That wasn’t in the script.
The image of Erica disappeared as he fumbled for his phone on the bedside cabinet.
“Hello,” he said gruffly, his voice not quite woken up.
“Right, I’m coming to get you. I’ve been thinking about this all night. The longer you stay there, the quicker you’ll get found out. And once the press find you, then we can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what?”
“You know! But you can’t stay in the hotel. Someone is bound to blab.”
“Ruby, what time is it?” Steve rubbed his eyes. He was semi-aroused, dreaming of Erica. Luckily, he softened with reality, and his sister’s voice.
“It’s seven a.m. Not that early. I’ve managed to get the day off work, so make the most of it. Get dressed, and get packed, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
She’d hung up before he could argue. Last night, Ruby had left him full of ideas on how he could become normal, and he’d gone to bed, nicely warmed by the scotch inside him, wondering whether he would actually find the woman of his dreams while here in the UK. He’d told Ruby he could stay for three months – maximum. He’d have to return sometime in January. The Oscars were in February – he’d have to be back for those, and then the filming for his new movie would start after. However, his agent, Karl, still expected him back in LA in two weeks’ time…Steve would worry about that later. He’d make sure Marie cleared his diary.
This meant he had until the end of January to find the perfect woman.
But he didn’t want perfect. ‘Perfect’ he could pick up in Hollywood tomorrow. He wanted someone who didn’t have to look immaculate every time she stepped out of her front door, didn’t need to worry about image – at least no more than the next woman did. Erica had been perfect, and look what had happened there. Every day she’d worried about her dress size and what she ate, following a special diet. Dinner in a restaurant had been hard work at times. No, he wanted to find someone ordinary, normal, who he could settle down with. Someone he could love, and who would love him back.
Steve wanted all the things his mum and dad had had. He wasn’t looking at this with rose tinted glasses either. He remembered their arguments, the tough times, more than Ruby would, but they’d always come out the other side, still in love. Dad coming home with flowers to apologise, Mum baking Dad’s favourite lemon drizzle cake. He had fond memories of his mother standing at the sink doing the washing up, soap suds to her elbows and Dad surprising her from behind, kissing and hugging her.
He jumped out of bed and slipped on his clothes. The scruffier he looked, the better. He’d grab a shower at Ruby’s. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and combing a hand through his hair, he looked in the mirror and decided he’d do. Luckily, he hadn’t unpacked much, so he was ready by the time Ruby knocked on his door.
Steve checked out quickly and as discreetly as possible, and was soon dragging his case behind him, out into the grey British rain, towards Ruby’s waiting car. Somehow, after Ruby had thrown some carrier bags of shopping (new shoes and clothes) into the back seats, his luggage fitted into the small trunk – thank heavens he’d packed light.
With the two of them in the car, the front screen misted up quickly. Ruby switched on the blowers and eventually they blew out warm air. Thanks to the typical British weather, he hadn’t seen the sun once since landing at Heathrow. He squashed the thought of missing the LA warmth quickly. This is what he wanted; to come home. He’d just forgotten how miserable the weather could be, he thought, tousling his hair to remove the rainwater. Used to the leg space in limousines, Steve sat cramped in Ruby’s little car – he could almost touch his ears with his knees.
Okay, note to self; for her next birthday buy Ruby a bigger car.
“So, where am I going to stay, if I can’t stay in a hotel?” Steve said, as he adjusted the car seat for some leg room. Instead, the chair tilted, throwing him back. Cursing under his breath, while Ruby giggled, he up-righted himself and worked out the seat eventually.
“You can stay with me.”