What I Did for Love

anything. She studied her feet. “Don’t give up on me, okay?”

“I can’t,” he said. “I’m too curious to see how you’re going to turn out when you grow up.”

She looked back up at him and saw this funny expression on his face. He wasn’t looking at her body or even taking his eyes off her, but she was aware of him in a way that made her feel…itchy or thirsty. Something. “Are you ready to swim yet?” she said. “Or do you want to stand here all day psychoanalyzing me?”

“Swim.”

“That’s what I thought.”

She raced for the water, feeling almost free. Maybe it wouldn’t last, but for now it felt good.

Georgie edited film during the day and wandered around the more squalid streets of Hollywood and West Hollywood at night, with only her camera and her famous face for protection. Most of the girls she approached recognized her and were more than willing to talk into her camera lens.

She discovered a mobile health clinic that served street kids. Again, her fame paid off, and the health care workers let her ride with them each night as they offered HIV and STD testing, crisis counseling, condoms, and disease prevention education. What she saw and heard during those nights left her heartsick. She kept imagining Chaz among these girls and thinking about where she’d be without Bram’s intervention.

Two weeks slipped by, and he made no attempts to see her. She was exhausted to the point of numbness, but she couldn’t sleep more than a few hours before she jerked awake, her pajamas damp with sweat, the sheets twisted around her. She desperately missed the man she’d believed Bram to be, the man who’d harbored a caring heart beneath his cynical exterior. Only her work and the knowledge that she’d done the right thing by not giving up her soul for the sake of revenge kept her from despair.

Since the paps weren’t prone to lurk in the neighborhoods she visited, no photos of her popped up. Even though she’d ordered Aaron to stop feeding the tabloids his stories of marital bliss, he kept on doing it. She no longer cared. Let Bram deal with it.

On a Friday three weeks after her breakup with Bram, Aaron called and told her to log on to Variety. When she did, she saw the announcement:

Casting has been completed on Tree House, Bram Shepard’s film adaptation of Sarah Carter’s best-selling novel. In a surprise move, Anna Chalmers, a virtually unknown indie actress, has been signed for Helene, the demanding female lead.

Georgie gazed at the screen. It was over. Now Bram no longer had a need to convince her of his undying love, which explained why he hadn’t tried to talk to her again. She forced on her sneakers and took a beach walk. Her defenses were down, and she was exhausted, or she wouldn’t have let herself drift into a sitcom world where Bram would show up at her door, throw himself on his knees, and beg for her love and forgiveness.

Disgusted with herself, she headed back to the house.

The next morning her phone rang while she was at her computer. She dragged herself out of her stupor and squinted at the display on her cell. It was Aaron. He’d flown to Kansas for the weekend to celebrate his father’s sixtieth birthday. She cleared the muzziness from her voice. “How’s the family reunion?”

“Fine, but Chaz is sick. I just got off the phone, and she sounded really bad.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She wouldn’t tell me, but she almost sounded like she was crying. I told her to find Bram, but she doesn’t know where he is.”

Not in Malibu, Georgie thought, trying to win me back.

“I’m worried about her,” Aaron went on. “Do you think…”

“I’ll drive over,” she said.

As she pulled out onto the highway, the sitcom began to play again in her head. She saw herself walking into Bram’s house and discovering balloons everywhere. Dozens of them floating at the ceiling with their ribbons drifting in the air. And she saw Bram standing in the middle of them, his expression soft, anxious, tender.

“Surprise!”

She punched the accelerator and pulled herself back to reality.

Not a single balloon floated in the empty, quiet house, and the man who’d betrayed her was nowhere in sight. With the paparazzi once again staking out the end of the drive, she’d left her car at Rory’s and slipped through the back gate. She set down her purse and called Chaz’s name. There was no response.

She made her way through the empty kitchen into the back hallway and up the stairs to Chaz’s apartment above the garage. She wasn’t surprised to find it simply decorated and scrupulously neat. “Chaz? Are you okay?”

A moan came from what seemed to be the only bedroom. She discovered Chaz lying on top of a crumpled gray quilt, her knees pulled to her chest, her face pale. She groaned as she saw Georgie. “Aaron called you.”

Georgie hurried to the side of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

She clutched her knees tighter. “I can’t believe he called you.”

“He was worried. He said you were sick, and obviously he was right.”

“I have cramps.”

“Cramps?”

“Cramps. That’s all. I sometimes get ’em like this. Now go away.”

“Did you take anything?”

“I ran out.” Her words were nearly a wail. “Leave me alone.” She turned her face into the pillow and said, more softly, “Please.”

Please? Chaz must really be sick. Georgie fetched some Tylenol from Bram’s kitchen, made a cup of tea, and carried it back to the apartment. On her way to the bedroom, she saw a GED workbook open on the coffee table along with a couple of used yellow pads and pencils. She smiled, her first one of the week.

“I can’t believe Aaron called you,” Chaz said again after she’d taken the pills. “You drove all the way from Malibu to give me some Tylenol?”

“Aaron was pretty upset.” Georgie set the bottle on the bedside table. “And you’d have done the same for me.”

That drew Chaz out of her misery. “He was upset?”

Georgie nodded and held out the hot, sugared tea. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

Chaz pulled herself up far enough to take the mug. “Thanks,” she muttered. “I mean it.”

“I know,” Georgie said as she left the room.

She picked up a couple of things she’d left behind, being careful not to even glance in the bedroom. As she came back downstairs, a wash of golden afternoon light splashed through the windows. She’d loved this house. Its nooks and spaces. She’d loved the potted lemon trees and Tibetan throws, the Aztec stone fireplace mantel and warm wooden floors. She’d loved the bookshelf-lined dining room and brass wind-bells. How could the man who’d designed such a welcoming home have such an empty, hostile heart?

And that’s when he walked in.

Chapter 27

Bram’s shocked expression clearly announced she was the last person on earth he expected-or wanted-to see. Her own face was chalky from too many late nights, and her eyes shadowed, but he looked ready for a GQ shoot. He had a crisp new haircut, almost as short as he’d worn it during their Skip and Scooter days, and she could have sworn his fingernails looked professionally manicured.

She couldn’t bear having him think she’d sought him out. “Chaz is sick,” she said flatly. “I drove over to check on her, and now I’m leaving.”

She set her shoulders and crossed the room toward the veranda, but he was at her side before she could touch the knob. “Don’t take another step.”

“No drama, Bram. I don’t have the stomach for it.”

“We’re actors. We thrive on drama.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “I haven’t