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Well, maybe not the pot part.
For lots of years—even before Hollywood swept me up and gave me direction—I’d moved from place to place, been a stranger. When you only stay places for a year or two at a time, you start to realize there’s no point in trying to find people to care about, or to care about you. You’re just going to leave them anyway. My parents had actually taught me that lesson early on.
And after I’d gotten my break, when I’d been in Los Angeles for a few years, and had some friends, I began to understand that friendship meant something different when you had money, when your name meant more than what was inside of you. If anything, I was more alone now than I’d ever been before, despite more people knowing me than I’d ever dreamed was possible.
But Tess was different … she made me feel like I was part of something else, like maybe together, we were something bigger. Tess gave me a glimpse of a different kind of life, one where you stayed in one place because that was where you belonged, because that was where your heart lived and where you were loved. Because it was where you were supposed to be.
I stood in the center of the hallway in that old house for a long moment, listening to the house creak and groan as the wind wrapped around it outside. My mind turned and twisted, working to make sense of how unexpectedly this place had infiltrated my mind, my heart—how completely Tess Manchester had taken over everything uncertain and afraid in me and lit a path that made more sense than anything in my life ever had. I stared at the gentle glow of light cast up the stairs from below. It probably wasn’t the right move, but I followed that light and Granny’s gleeful shouts down the stairs and into a small office in the back of the house.
The old lady was wearing a headset, sitting in front of a huge monitor in the biggest swiveling chair I’d ever seen. The screen in front of her showed a huge colorful world and a group of cartoony characters gathered around carrying a wide range of weapons and wearing bright armor and robes. I recognized it immediately.
I’d told Tess I knew the game because of my college roommate, but that had only been because I was embarrassed to admit I played it myself.
“Playing a paladin?” I asked, stepping into the darkened room, which had a lingering cloud of pot smoke hovering in the air.
Granny’s head whipped around, her small eyes alight. “Level sixty-eight,” she said. “You play?” Her wrinkled face pulled into a grin as she stared at me. I cringed a bit—this lady probably didn’t have a very high opinion of me, and I wasn’t sure what she thought now.
I stepped into the room, pulling a chair up next to her. “I have played. The last movie I did was on location, so I haven’t in a long time.”
“Ah,” she said, turning back to the group on the screen.
“I always liked to tank, too.” The tank was the warrior in a group, the guy who drew the bad guys from everyone else, who took the brunt of the attack. It was the character I always played—in the game, on the screen.
“Paladin?”
“Death Knight,” I told her, which earned me another grin.
“So there’s some substance behind that pretty face,” she said, swinging her chair around to face me. She was regarding me with a thoughtful expression, and I had the sensation of being evaluated—like Granny could see past the surface now that she was looking at me so intently. It was both uncomfortable and strangely enjoyable. As she stared at me, the group of other players on the screen moved away, leaving her standing alone.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said, gesturing at the screen. “I think your group is heading out.”
“Nah,” she said, a little cackle at the end of the sound. “I got in a group with a bunch of twelve-year olds. That’s the problem with playing on the east coast. I have to stay up pretty late to play with grownups, since bedtime for those California juvenile delinquents doesn’t seem to be until midnight.”
I laughed, knowing exactly what she meant. “I remember what that was like—kids getting in crazy fights about drops and disagreeing about everything.” I might have played a little more in college than I’d admitted to Tess.
“It’s like babysitting sometimes,” she said, pulling the headset from her head. “But I bet you didn’t come in here to talk about Warcraft.” She gave me the sharp-eyed look again.
I tried a smile. “I just heard you awake, and thought I’d say hello.”
She narrowed those watery eyes at me and made a clucking sound. “I think you need some guidance.” She smiled. “Too bad the only person around is an old pothead.”
I let out a laugh. She was charming and funny. It was a welcome relief. “I need something,” I agreed. “I just don’t know what it is. And I have a feeling I might know where Juliet got the acting gene. I think you want people to believe you’re just an old pothead. I think it’s your cover.”
She squinted at me as she took in these words. Quietly, she said, “It’s easier to see what’s really going on if everyone thinks you’re an idiot.”
It wasn’t a whole lot different than being treated like the ‘talent’ and talked around in contract meetings. “I get that, actually.” I sighed, leaning back in the chair next to her. “So do you see what’s really going on here? With me?”
“You need to decide,” she said. “You can’t have both my granddaughters.”
I shook my head. “Yeah, I know.” Then I realized she still believed I’d come here as Juliet’s boyfriend and that Juliet had asked me not to tell her the truth. But I couldn’t have Tess’s grandmother believing I was that kind of guy. “No, I mean … it’s kind of complicated.”
“Only because you’re a man,” she said, her voice taking on a sage old lady tone. “Your dick complicates everything where beautiful women are concerned.”
“I’m not arguing with that,” I chuckled, enjoying her straight-shooting nature. “But there’s more to it …” I looked at her for a long minute, and I knew my assumption about her cover was on target. Where I’d first believed Tess’s granny was a crazy old pot-smoking lady, potentially senile, now I saw a sharp woman who had enough experience to live exactly the way she wanted to and made no excuses for it. There wasn’t a senile bone in her body, I realized. “I’m not really with Jules,” I told her. “That was a pretense for the press.”
The clucking noise again, and Granny shook her head slowly. “The world you live in,” she said, trailing off.
“I know. It’s a mess.” I sighed, and found my mouth opening again, words forcing their way out before I’d had a chance to think about it. Gran’s attention, and the atmosphere around her that just seemed to suggest she knew and understood things she didn’t always share, had me babbling. I told her about my childhood, my current career, and even my dad.
