Jane Austen Goes to Hollywood(26)
Author: Abby McDonald

She exhaled. “To . . . matter. To have people know my name. To leave a mark on the world!” She stopped, self-conscious. “It sounds, conceited, I know, but it’s not like that. I just mean, we’re all so small, and life is so fleeting; I don’t want to just be gone, and have there be nothing left of me, you know?”

“I do.” Dakota smiled slowly. “It’s why I write. So somebody out there can know I exist. So I can reach them.”

“I mean, imagine twenty years from now, someone watching a movie with me in it, or listening to one of your songs. Not even here,” Hallie added excitedly, “but in England, or China, or somewhere. That they would know who we are, that we existed! Instead of just . . .”

“Fading away,” Dakota finished. “My parents think it’s crazy, to just move out here and try to be, what, a rock star?”

“But it’s not!” Hallie insisted. “I think it’s crazy to just sit around, and not try to make your dreams happen. Think about spending your whole life wondering, What if?”

“They don’t get it!” he agreed. “My dad works a factory gig, just slaving away ten hours a day, and for what? A paycheck that’s gone by the end of the month? I want more than that.”

“You are more than that,” Hallie told him, breathless. He understood. He understood her. “We both are.”

He stopped walking, and with a flash of disappointment, Hallie realized they were back outside Uncle Auggie’s mansion. The dogs yapped, impatient. “I’m really glad I met you,” Dakota said, almost shyly. “Not that you nearly drowned,” he added quickly. “But, you know.”

Hallie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Me and the guys are playing a gig Friday night, over in Hollywood.” Dakota looked hopeful. “I can put you on the list if you feel up to coming?”

“I’d love to!” Hallie exclaimed. “But . . .”

Dakota waited. “What?”

“It’s just . . . Friday is a long way away.” She felt her cheeks flush. But she couldn’t help it! The thought of a whole week passing before she could see him again? Unfathomable!

Dakota must have agreed, because he grinned. “You’ll need to build your strength back up, like the doctor said. How about another walk? Tomorrow?”

“Perfect.” Hallie sighed with happiness. And he was.

Dakota came to visit the next day, and every day that week, bringing Hallie a new gift each afternoon. A copy of his last demo CD; a ripe peach; a single blush-pink peony. Hallie lined them up on her bedroom windowsill like trophies — evidence that their time together was real, that he was real, and not conjured out of her imagination after a lifetime of idle daydreaming and sheer longing.

Because he was so right for her. Sensitive, thoughtful, artistic, intense . . . Since the night he pulled her from the cruel ocean — so brave! so heroic! — she’d been in a constant state of nervous anticipation, adrenaline jittering through her system at the mere thought of him. And when they were together . . . Hallie would have sworn that the world disappeared. This was what love felt like, she was sure of it.

“Hallie!” Grace yelled from downstairs. “Brandon’s here!”

“Just a minute!” Hallie called back. It was Friday night, the band’s big show, and Hallie was venturing up into Hollywood to go see him play. Without a driver’s license, or money for a cab, she’d found the perfect solution: Brandon, and his Jeep. Hallie quickly pulled on her boots and Dakota’s leather jacket, then smudged on another layer of dark eyeliner. Grace’s footsteps thundered on the staircase, and a moment later, she was in the doorway.

“What do you think?” Hallie twirled around, breathless. “Will he like it?”

“Brandon?”

“Ugh, no! Dakota!”

Grace rolled her eyes. “You look fine. You always look fine — when you’re not dolled up like you traveled here from nineteen fifty-two, I mean.”

Hallie gave her a look, collecting a tiny cross-body bag and her lip balm. “I just want to be perfect for him.”

Grace bit her lip.

“What?” Hallie sighed.

“Nothing,” Grace said, still reluctant. “It’s just . . . You shouldn’t rush into anything. I mean, you’ve only known him four days.”

“Five,” Hallie corrected quickly. “And time doesn’t matter. We transcend time!”

Grace didn’t seem impressed. “Just . . . don’t rush into anything. You haven’t seen a single other person since we got here: all you do is sit around waiting on him, and go on those walks.”

“Because I’ve been in recovery, after my near-death experience, or are you forgetting that?” Hallie protested. “And, hello, you aren’t exactly a social butterfly either!” She didn’t add that her friend requests and super-casual texts to Ana Lucia and Meredith had gone unanswered; their breezy party friendship failing to materialize into anything more solid. “I know plenty about him,” she argued, focusing on the real thing that mattered. The only thing. “We have talked, you know. What else do you think we’ve been doing all this time?”

There was a pause. Grace looked awkward. “But, you will be careful, right?”

It took Hallie a moment to realize what she meant. “Grace!”

Her sister looked equally disturbed. “He’s older, OK! And you’ve been glued together all week. I’m just saying . . .”

“Well, don’t!” Hallie pushed past her. “Never say anything about my sex life ever again!”

Hallie hurried downstairs. She’d never admit it to her sister, but the truth was, she and Dakota hadn’t even kissed, let alone . . . anything else. They’d talked for hours, exchanged a lifetime’s worth of deep, intense looks, and even, on one occasion, his hand had brushed against hers and stayed touching for a full three seconds. But beyond that? Nothing.

It was romantic. It was courtly. It was driving Hallie insane. And she was determined for it to end, tonight.

Brandon found parking along Sunset Boulevard, and walked with Hallie toward the club entrance, already marked with a snaking line of insouciant hipsters in plaid shirts and gaggles of eager teenage girls. “Thanks for the ride, but are you sure you want to stay?” Hallie checked. He’d been his usual introverted self on the drive over — all awkward abrupt statements, and nervous tapping — and somehow, he didn’t strike her as the über-cool rock-show type.