The Role of a Lifetime Read online

  Dedication

  For my dad—who loved to read and would have been tickled pink to know that I wrote a book.

  Chapter One

  He had a pretty nice body…for a creep.

  Sandra Moyer didn’t exactly know what that made her for noticing something like that, but the phrase “cheap and desperate” came to mind.

  Since when did she start ogling the physiques of strange men?

  Her shoulders wilted as she brooded over that question. Obviously she needed to get out more. The problem was she didn’t see herself doing that anytime soon. Her self-esteem had hit rock bottom and hadn’t been able to locate its way back up since the day she’d found Steve cheating on her with one of his co-stars.

  An unpleasant picture of her ex-husband lip-locked with a Julianne Moore-type redhead popped into her mind and she shuddered.

  Actors. Did their profession ever mesh with reality?

  The answer to that was a resounding no. Unfortunately, she’d learned that one the hard way. Steve had even thought she’d understand the main reason he had the affair was for the publicity and what it could do for his career.

  Like that made her feel so much better about it.

  “Mommy, I want to play in the sandbox.” Her daughter’s voice pulled her from the brink of depression she teetered on.

  “Okay, honey. Just five more minutes, though.”

  Hannah squealed and dashed through the playground as fast as her little legs could run. Sandra couldn’t help but smile. Life was so simple when you were four. It was the little things that kept you happy.

  And why not? Four-year-olds didn’t think about paying the rent or overdue bills. Things that were constantly on her mind ever since she opened a preschool with her sister. No, the only thing you worried about at that age was whether Mommy would give you ice cream if you didn’t eat your string beans.

  Yeah, good times. She’d kill for that kind of stress again.

  Unfortunately, the thought of homicide had her eyes traveling back to the well-built man she’d been ogling earlier. Not that he was doing anything illegal—simply tossing around a football with a young boy—but she had a sixth sense when it came to protecting her daughter, and right now it was telling her something big. Like he’d just gotten out of prison. It must have been a whopper of a sentence too, judging from the long, scraggily hair and the kind of beard and mustache Santa Claus would envy. She never made it a habit of associating with men who looked liked convicts, but there was something definitely familiar about him. She had to have seen the man somewhere before.

  But where?

  She didn’t think he had a child enrolled in her preschool. Story time at the public library? She doubted that, too. He didn’t exactly look like the loving Father Knows Best type, considering a fire-breathing skull tattoo wasn’t designed to instill tenderness. At least the ex-con was out spending time with his son, which was a lot more than what her daughter was getting from her own father.

  As if her thoughts were being telepathically sent out, the man in question cast a lingering gaze over in her direction and smiled. She froze.

  Oh. My. Goodness.

  Oh no, don’t even think about it. Don’t you dare come over here. She fumbled to put her sunglasses back on and almost punched out a lens. She hoped he was a jolly person being his normal, friendly self and had not just leered suggestively at her. But she laid odds on the latter.

  What was it with her? She could attract a creep from the next state over without even trying. And that was a talent she’d gladly relinquish.

  She flopped down on the bench behind her. Opening her purse, she yanked out a book and hid her face behind it. If she pretended to be engrossed in reading, maybe the man would reconsider trying to strike up a conversation. Yeah, that’s all she needed—some ex-con cozying up to her.

  Confident her glasses hid her eyes, she lowered the book a half-inch and snuck another peek. Tall, Dark and Scraggily had his back to her now. Thank goodness, she thought, slowly letting out a breath.

  One deadbeat per lifetime was enough.

  “C’mon, Uncle Bens. I’m wide open.”

  Ben Capshaw lowered his throwing arm and glared at his agent’s son, Todd. “Will you stop calling me that?”

  “But you are my Uncle Bens,” Todd said with a frown.

  “Yeah, I guess. But when you say it like that I feel like a side dish at a Chinese restaurant.”

  The boy snickered. “I know.”

  Ben quickly raised the football again and pretended to whip it at him. When Todd flailed his arms and ducked, Ben had his revenge. “Nice move,” he called out with a laugh.

  Todd laughed too. “Okay, c’mon, throw it for real this time. I’m really ready.”

  Ben lobbed the football in the air and watched with budding disappointment as it sailed right through Todd’s arms and bounced on the ground. Ben rolled his eyes upward. The kid obviously needed more practice. “You almost had it,” he lied.

  Todd picked up the ball and ran it back. “You know, I’m so glad you’re here for dinner, Uncle Bens. Are you and my mom sure I can’t tell anyone you’re here?”

  Ben looked up at the sky and sighed. A sigh that clearly said, if we go through this one more time I’m going to find your entire stash of Twinkies and eat them all without remorse. If the kid were a little older, he’d understand that threat and let the question lie. Instead, Todd continued to gaze up at him with big, brown, hopeful eyes.

  “No,” Ben told him firmly. “No one. Got it?” Todd’s young face immediately looked crushed. “Look, it’s like I told you before, I don’t want the paparazzi buzzing around here. I’m officially on vacation.”

  “In Wood Manor, New Jersey?”

  “Hey, the beach here is just as good as Los Angeles, and after a few days I’ll drive up to New York.” Maybe he’d get a haircut and a shave, a massage, meet a few women.

  Speaking of meeting women…

  Ben’s gaze lingered again on the tasty-looking blonde sitting on the bench. He’d been checking her out since he and Todd first arrived at the park. Couldn’t help himself. He had a real thing for blondes, and most—thank you, God—had a real thing for movie stars.

  He liked his odds.

  “Hey, Todd, why don’t we go to the slide over there?”

  “No way.”

  He turned to the boy in surprise. “Why not?”

  “That slide’s for babies.”

  “No, it’s not. Look, there’s an adult over there,” he said, pointing the football towards the bench.

  Todd looked over and made a face. “You want to go talk to that woman, don’t you?”

  “What?” Ben spluttered. “No, no. No way. Hey, stop listening to your mom about me.” Besides, he didn’t want to talk to her anyway. Flirt was a better verb choice. He wanted to flirt with that woman. There was a difference. Anyone could spew out words and just talk. Flirting required talent, always used with the sole purpose of letting the other person know you’re interested. And he was very interested in her.

  As much as he was tempted to go over and introduce himself, he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to risk his anonymity. He’d lectured Todd on that two seconds ago. But he didn’t see the harm in getting a better look at an attractive woman. After all, if he was in a museum, he’d certainly want to get closer to a work of art, wouldn’t he? And from what he could tell, that woman was a masterpiece.

  She had the kind of straight, shiny blonde hair his fingers itched to feel and run through, and a body that was slender in an athletic kind of way—built more like a runner than a centerfold—and not at all like most of the women in LA. He was positive there was nothing cosmetically enhanced on her. Not that she wore anything reve
aling to bring about that kind of attention to herself. Yet, dressed in sweatpants and a Red Sox T-shirt, she managed to get his attention just the same.

  “Um, Todd, are you sure you don’t want to go over there?” he asked again, trying to rein in and saddle his raging testosterone.

  Todd took off running. “You have to catch me first,” he called out with a laugh.

  Ben dropped the football and ran after him. Todd was fast, weaving his way around the wooden maze of forts and playground equipment, and then disappearing from his sight. Ben climbed up the rope to the wooden platform and scanned the area. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Todd ducking into a tube slide. Gotcha now, kid. He ran over and climbed into a slide himself. The only problem was he didn’t slide down.

  Crap.

  He tried to twist, realizing his shoulders were wedged in tight. With one arm pinned down and the other arm up, he tried shifting his hips to wiggle back up. He didn’t budge. Okay, he wasn’t sure how he managed this strangely bizarre feat, but he needed some help.

  Crap.

  He could see the headline now: “Career Not Only Thing Going Down Tubes”. Oh man, his agent and publicist would have his head on a platter if that happened. He’d be lucky to get local theater work after that. Served him right for showing off and acting like a ten-year-old instead of the thirty-four-year-old he was.

  Where the hell was Todd?

  Ben heard movement above him and looked up, ready to ream Todd for leaving him hanging so long. He clamped his lips shut when he stared directly into the face of a cherubic little girl instead.

  “Excuse me. Now it’s my turn,” she said in a tiny voice.

  “Uh…well, you have to wait. See, I can’t move right now.”

  “But I said excuse me.”

  “Yeah, I know, but—”

  Her little face puckered and her blue eyes filled with tears. Oh man, he was afraid of that. The kid was going to cry on him.

  Where the hell was Todd?

  The little girl did begin to cry—not with the loud obnoxious wailing he half expected, but with a quiet trembling frown and dime-size tears that fell like a category-four hailstorm. It made him want to break down and cry, too. He didn’t need this right now—stuck as he was—especially since he had no clue how to convey he was telling the truth to such a young child. About to send out a SOS to Todd, he saw the woman from the bench spring out before him.

  Thank you, God. Maybe it wasn’t exactly how he wanted to meet this woman, but at least she would understand the situation and he could finally get some help. But when he gazed up into the woman’s ready-to-kill eyes, he doubted very much that the cavalry had arrived.

  “What did you do to my daughter?” she accused in that stern mother-cub-protecting-her-baby voice.

  Oh great. Her daughter. More bad PR. Now they were going to add child abuse to the headline.

  “Nothing,” he insisted. “Honest. Look, she just wants to go down the slide.”

  The woman folded her arms. “Well, let her then.”

  That gave him pause. Okay, she obviously didn’t understand his predicament any better than her kid had. “I...uh…can’t,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I’m kind of stuck. Maybe a little help?” He waved his one free arm, but she looked at it as though it was covered with warts.

  “Maybe I should call the police for help,” she said, drawing her daughter to her side.

  “No police!”

  The woman flinched from his outburst. He didn’t mean to freak out on her, but the police equaled the press in his book. Bad headlines. Then unhappy agent. Then less work. The list went on.

  “No police,” he repeated more calmly. “In fact, don’t call anyone.”

  An odd expression—somewhere between nausea and hysteria—crossed her pretty features, and she grabbed her daughter’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  Go? Go where? He watched in disbelief as the woman began to lead her daughter away. Did she think he was faking it? Didn’t she recognize him? The woman was actually turning her back on him.

  “Wait!” he shouted. “I’m not kidding! Come back! What about me?”

  His complaints and shouts didn’t even register on her radar. The woman had to have heard him—heck, upstate New York had to have heard him—but she didn’t turn around. Didn’t pause. In fact, she picked up her little girl and ran.

  “Then I went to the bottom of the slide and pushed Uncle Bens up and out of the tube,” Todd proudly explained to his parents’ fascinated faces.

  Ben turned and shot the boy a cross look. “Yeah, but you sure took your sweet time getting to me, kid.”

  Ben took comfort in the fact that Todd had the sensitivity to wait until his parents finished dinner before opening his mouth about his embarrassing situation this afternoon.

  His agent, Denise, sat back and shook her head with disgust. “How do things like that happen to you?”

  Ben smiled crookedly. “Just lucky?”

  “Just stupid. You’re an infant walking around in a man’s body, you know.” She stood from the table and proceeded to clear away the dinner dishes. “You have an image to uphold. What happens to you also reflects on me too since I represent you. And just what made you think you could go down a tube-slide designed for a ten-year-old?”

  “Oh no, Mom. Uncle Bens went down the baby slide,” Todd supplied.

  That comment earned a chuckle from Denise’s husband, Frank. Ben shot him an evil scowl in return—a look he’d perfected for his last movie—which had Frank sobering fast.

  Damn, he was a good actor.

  “What if someone saw you and called the fire department or the police?” she asked. “This town is small. Can you imagine the publicity?”

  “Yes,” Ben snapped. He paused, remembering the attractive blonde and her little daughter. “Actually, someone almost did call the police, but I convinced her not to.”

  “Thank goodness for that and that she was there to help you and Todd.”

  “Help? Are you kidding? She ran off like I was Ted Bundy.”

  Denise turned away from the sink and gave him a stern look. “Well, I don’t blame her one bit.”

  Ben gaped and turned to her husband for support. Frank, being the pacifist he was, stood, shrugged and followed Todd out of the room. Eyes rolling toward the ceiling, Ben turned back to his agent. “You actually condone her for not stopping to help a movie star, let alone a fellow citizen? Last time I checked, we live in a benevolent society.”

  “Come on, Ben, look at yourself. She wouldn’t have recognized you if her life depended on it. I personally wouldn’t have stopped to throw a quarter in a cup for you either. It’s your own fault, parading around like that. That look did nothing for Brad Pitt either.”

  Ben’s anger dissipated as he rubbed the palm of his hand over his long beard and hair. He’d never counted on his disguise going as far as scaring a mother and her small child. He grew the hair and mustache almost a year ago for a part in a biker movie—then decided to keep it for a while for kicks and because he loved pretending.

  “What do I really look like?” he asked.

  “A hermit.”

  “A handsome hermit?”

  She laughed. “Honey, you could be tarred and feathered and still be voted one of the Most Beautiful People in Hollywood—and you can act. That’s why you’re one of my favorite clients.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, well, thanks for pulling those magical strings of yours and landing me the lead in Heaven Sent.”

  Denise walked over and handed him a piece of paper. “You don’t have the part just yet. We’ll know in a few more weeks.” She gestured toward the paper. “That’s to make sure you’re ready for it when you do.”

  He looked down at the slip in his hand. Besides the name Storybook Land, it had an address and directions. “What’s this, an amusement park?” he asked.

  “No, a preschool. Actually, it’s research.”

  “Research? What kind of research can I do ar
ound a bunch of little runny noses at a preschool?”

  Denise’s eyes narrowed at the particular wording of his question. She sat, planting herself in front of him, and leaned in. “Look, Ben, you’re a fantastic actor, but this is our big chance to showcase your stuff. You’ll need to get a feel for what it’s like to be around young children—care for them.” She hesitated, drumming her fingers on the table. “Something like that isn’t always…”

  “Innate?” Ben knew what she was getting at. She was worried he wouldn’t have it in him to act like a father since he’d never had one of his own—much less a real family.

  “I didn’t say that,” she blurted. “I just meant that sometimes what you think caring for a child means isn’t at all like actually doing it.”

  “Yeah, translated means you don’t think I can act,” he shot, banking down the hurt he felt at her lack of confidence in him.

  “Oh, stop taking it so personally. I’d do the exact same thing for George Clooney—if he was a client. Honest. Ben, I want this role for you. It’ll mean a lot for both our careers. So listen, even though they’ve done a background check on you and you don’t even have so much as an unpaid parking ticket in your file, you won’t be allowed to be alone with the children. But you’ll at least be able to observe the class and interact as a teacher. How does that sound?”

  He stroked his beard for a moment, mulling it over. “I don’t know. If I do something like that, there’s going to be a media circus around me.”

  She gave him an all-too-confident grin. “There won’t be. This preschool is perfect. Very small. Owned and run by two sisters. I think they only have one other teacher on staff with them. The sisters have agreed not to alert the media until after you’re long gone.”

  Ben eyed her skeptically for a minute, glanced at the slip of paper again, and decided she had a point. What did he know about being around little kids anyway? He didn’t like them. What did he know about being a father? He’d never had one. The research certainly couldn’t hurt, and if it meant it would help his career, even better.

  “Okay,” he said with a slight shrug. “I’ll look into it after my vacation.”