I wondered belatedly if that was code for sex games. That I’d unwittingly accepted an invitation to a Hollywood orgy.
No. I was being ridiculous. If there wasn’t cocaine, there probably wasn’t any free love. Despite the house—with its raunchy seventies vibes—practically begging for it.
“What kind of games?” I asked.
“He’ll explain it to you,” Ollie said.
And then, like it was an actual movie, not just a living fantasy with a movie star, the crowd seemed to part and there he was.
Gabe.
He was holding court at one end of his living room, his still-unnamed puppy sitting at his feet. He was barefoot and every time the dog licked his toes, he’d give her something off the little round paper plate he was holding.
“You’re spoiling her,” Ollie said as we approached.
But Gabe wasn’t paying attention—he was looking at me. Staring, in fact.
“It’s you,” he said.
“Hi,” I said.
Ollie patted my shoulder.
“I’ll leave you two to discuss Running Pyramid.”
Then he was gone.
Even though the living room was full of people and there was music and talking and laughing, all of that seemed to mellow into a quiet kind of hush. The expression on Gabe’s face wasn’t much different from the one he’d worn when I met him on the red carpet.
Only I wasn’t wearing a beautiful, glittering dress, I didn’t have a full face of makeup, and my hair was wavy and frizzy and messy the way it usually was.
Still.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I said again.
The puppy let out a little, short bark. We both looked down at her, and she looked up innocently, as if she had no idea why we were suddenly paying attention to her.
“Ollie is right,” Gabe told her. “I am spoiling you.”
He handed me the plate and knelt down, hefting her up into his arms. She was little now, but it was easy to tell from her catcher’s mitt paws that she was going to be a big dog. She licked his face.
“Feel free to spoil her too,” Gabe said, nodding at the plate in my hand. “It’s just cheese.”
I fed her a few crumbles, which she ate eagerly, her soft tongue cleaning my fingers.
“She likes you,” Gabe said.
“I think she likes anyone with food,” I said.
“Just like her master.” He nuzzled the dog with his nose and she sniffed his face. “Good girl.”
“Good girl,” I echoed.
Gabe grinned. “Let’s get you a drink,” he said.
THE RUMOR MILL
GABE PARKER:
WITHOUT A FATHER FIGURE
[excerpt]
By now, we’ve all seen the picture—Of Gabe Parker, who drew the world’s attention in the steamy, rustic drama Cold Creek Mountain, attending the movie premiere with his mother.
Not a budding starlet, not his gorgeous co-star, not anyone in the industry at all.
It was enough to make his new legion of female fans swoon.
What followed were numerous interviews about how close he is with not just his mother but his sister as well. He even calls her his best friend.
One has to wonder how Parker managed to maintain his undeniable masculinity while surrounded by so much femininity.
Especially since he refuses to discuss—or even mention—his father.
Speculation has run rampant and Parker’s silence does nothing to quell the rumors. In fact, it only serves to amplify them.
If there isn’t a story, then why won’t Gabe talk about his father? Who is the patriarchal Parker?
But nothing stays hidden in Hollywood—and that includes details about Parker’s family life.
The Rumor Mill has discovered the truth behind Gabe’s silence, and it’s tragic.
Thomas Parker was a contractor in Cooper, Montana, where he was born and raised. He married Elizabeth Williams when they were both twenty-seven. They had their first child—Gabe’s sister, Lauren—at twenty-nine, followed by Gabe the following year. Ten years later Thomas was gone. Dead from a brain tumor.
Chapter
20
I was exhausted. The night before was catching up to me, it was way past my bedtime, and I was bored. Pretty much everyone around me was drunk and even though Oliver had insisted there was no cocaine available at this party, I was pretty sure that there were a few people over in the corner that had brought their own.
I kept a fair distance from them—I still wasn’t sure of the cool way to refuse.
I felt ridiculous and Gabe was being weird. Or maybe that was just me.
He’d gotten me that drink—a pretty hefty pour of whisky into a red cup of Diet Coke. I’d taken one or two sips, been reminded of how I’d felt that morning, and left the cup on a table somewhere.