“Look yonder at the end of the bar.”
A man with rugged good looks was buying a round for a half-dozen people who were gathered around him, much like candle moths hovering around a flame inside a glass chimney.
“He’s in that new western,” Candace said.
“And he was looking at you, darlin’. Tell him you’re taken.”
“That’s silly,” she said.
But after Troyce left, she realized the actor was looking at her with a faint smile while he pretended to listen to the conversation going on around him. He set his glass down and approached her table. She studied the tops of her hands. When she looked up again the actor was standing two feet from her, his fingers resting on the back of Troyce’s empty chair.
“I wondered if you and your friend would like to join us,” he said.
“We just ordered dinner,” she replied.
“After you eat, come over to the bar for a drink.”
He was of medium height but extremely handsome in the way that some men can be handsome without trying, his dark hair freshly barbered, his skin clear, his dress shirt and gray slacks loose on his athletic frame.
“Thank you, but we just came here to eat.” She glanced toward the doorway that led into the truck stop. “We’re probably not staying long.”
“You ought to. They got a great band. There’s a guy sitting in with them who’s really good.”
“Thanks for the invitation. We’re just going to eat.”
“You ever do any film work?”
“No. I don’t know anything about it.”
“I’d like to talk to you about it. Your friend, too. He’s got an unusual face. Was he in an accident of some kind?”
“I’m a cook. Listen, I love your movies, but you’re talking to the wrong person.” She tried to smile. She looked toward the entrance to the truck stop again. “I think my friend is coming back with our food.”
“It’s nice meeting you,” the actor said. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Candace. Excuse me, I got to go to the restroom.”
“Where do you live?”
“In a motel up the road. No, I’m kidding. Troyce and me own half of Beverly Hills. We eat in dumps like this for kicks.”
“If you change your mind, Candace, we’ll be at the bar. I’m not hitting on you. I meant what I said.”
When Candace returned from the restroom, her heart was still pounding. Troyce was sitting at the table, a foaming pitcher and two glasses in front of him.
“I was right, wasn’t I?” he said.
“About what?”
“That guy had his eye on you.”
“He wanted to invite us for a drink. He said maybe both of us could work in films. I think he was just being a nice guy, that’s all.”
“Yeah?” he said, grinning. “What’d you tell him?”
“That we were having dinner. You’re not gonna do anything, are you?”
“You know better than that,” he said playfully. “I ordered your steak medium well done, with a baked potato and double melted butter and a salad with buttermilk dressing. That’s what you wanted, right?”