“I didn’t know about your kids.”
“I was a good-looking man,” he said quietly, “but not a good man. I was a tolerable actor who loved the craft. And I loved the perks!” He flashed Carla one of his famous grins. “I loved the women, that’s for sure, and married more than my fair share.” He grimaced. “I would’ve made a poor father, though. Not decent and caring like Doug. He hasn’t handled your daughter’ s death well. I’m no expert, but I think he’s been giving you space for so long he’s forgotten how to find his way back to you again.”
Carla’s eyes filled with tears. This is nuts. I’m confiding in a ghost. A really handsome ghost. “Doug hasn’t touched me in years. He doesn’t want me. Maybe no man does or will again. If the man you married, who knows you better than anyone on the planet, doesn’t want you, why would anyone else?”
Clark rose from the bed and walked to the settee, a knowing smirk on his face. “Stand up. To quote Rhett Butler, ‘You need to be kissed, and by someone who knows how.’” At her expression, he explained, “I get one real kiss every decade. I’m due.”
As if in a dream, Carla stood up and closed her eyes. The ghost of Hollywood’s sexiest dreamboat had walked through a door to find her, but when he kissed her, she felt the sensation of flesh-and-blood lips pressed onto her mouth. Those were actual arms that lifted her slightly so that the sudden weakness in her knees wouldn’t cause her to collapse. He really does know how to kiss, she thought. Searching, desperate, just as if this is his first and last kiss for ten years.
When she opened her eyes, she was alone. She dropped back to the settee, her heart pounding. I was just kissed by a ghost. I was just kissed by the ghost of Clark Gable! She laughed, then drew in a shocked breath. It had been an incredible kiss, but smack in the middle of it, it hadn’t been Clark Gable’s face she had imagined. It had been Doug’s.
“Maybe Gable was right,” she said aloud. “Maybe he lost his way. Maybe there’s still hope.”
For the time being, however, she was curious. Clark Gable had cleaned up somehow. What else might he have done? She began looking inside of drawers and under the bed in search of items that might offer clues to what in the hell was going on.
The bedside tables held nothing at all, but when she opened the top bureau drawer, she found a box, pulling it out and setting it on the bed to investigate. It was a plain white cardboard box, oblong. She took off the top and gently pried back the layers of white tissue paper. She gasped when she saw the delicate red lace nightgown inside. Mr. Farmer must have left the gift by mistake. Whatever had interrupted their weekend had distracted him so deeply that he forgot all about it. I could mail it.
When she held the gown up by its satin straps, however, a card fell out. Remind him who you are. The note was signed C.G.
“All those years of skulking around the hallways of the Royal seem to have turned you into a romantic,” Carla announced wryly to the empty room. She stood and held the gown up to her to gaze at the reflection in the ornate mirror on the wall.
“Oh, why not?” She lay the gown on the bed and slipped out of her clothes. The gown fit her figure like it was made for it. The vivid red made her face look awfully plain, though. She glanced over at the open bureau drawer. Would he have...
Sure enough, there was a small satin makeup bag in the back – and a hairbrush. She glanced up at the paddle fan, as if a miniature movie idol might be sitting on one of the blades. “You sure thought of everything. Only one problem. I’m in a hotel room alone.”
From inside the pocket of her uniform skirt, her cellphone rang. Rummaging through the piles of clothes, she pulled it out and answered. “Hello?”
Doug’s voice was concerned. “Are you okay?”
“What do you mean? Are you okay? You called, not me.”
“Only because you texted. You know I don’t like to bother you at work.”
“Texted? I didn’t– Oh never mind.” Carla’s mind was reeling. She let out a long breath. Here goes nothing. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Doug. Why don’t you come spend the night with me at the Royal? Pretend we’re in our twenties again, that nothing bad’s ever happened. Can we do that?”
“Hell, I’m already here! The text said to come to the hotel, but I got waylaid by Deidre and her fellow in the lobby. They wanted to show her engagement ring to you, but didn’t find you. They’re just hanging out until you come back down.”
Carla felt dizzy. “Put Deidre on the phone.”
After a few seconds, the girl’s perky voice came on. “Is everything okay? You sent me such a weird text.”
“What does it say again? I, um, I forgot exactly.”
“Just that you needed me to come back after dinner for my shift, that you had a big surprise planned for Doug. He’s here, of course, but, where are you?”
In LaLa Land, I’m pretty sure. “Give me about five minutes, hon. Then send him up to room 207. Two Oh Seven. Got that? And can you stay?”
Deidre giggled. “Sure thing, boss. I can show you the ring tomorrow.”
It had been so long since Carla had applied makeup, she was pleased to discover that it was like riding a bicycle. Mascara, foundation, lipstick, a touch of blush – not that she needed
