Cheating at Solitaire

"Oh, Abby." Julia gathered herself. "That's great. I don't know how to thank you."



"I told you," Abby joked. "Sell lots of books!"



"Okay." Julia laughed. "I'll get right on that."



She hung up the phone, checked the board behind the airline counter, and saw that her layover had been extended by two hours. Great, Julia thought. I'm behind before I even get started.



She reached for her notebook, knowing that she needed to write, especially if she wanted to truly impress Abby and have an early draft when she came back through New York. But Julia didn't feel like writing. For the first time in her career, she had writer's block. She'd told herself that once she started traveling, the inspiration would flow, but so far all she'd felt had been jet lag and turbulence. Inspiration was like lost luggage, and she traveled on, hoping it would turn up somewhere along the way.



She fumbled in her purse for a pen, but found her deck of cards instead, and couldn't resist laying out a hand of solitaire. The cards fell beautifully into place, so she Hew through them, her hands moving without the benefit of her mind, her entire existence on cruise control. Then, as soon as the easy moves < disappeared, she heard the words that had been echoing in her head for weeks: Keep on playing solitaire. . . . Keep on laying out those cards, and then ask yourself when you're Ro-Ro's age if it would have been so awful to put that painting someplace.



She shook her head, looked away from the cards, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she caught sight of Lance Collins.



Chapter Twenty Seven



WAY #96: Let go of your baggage.



Life is going to be very long and difficult if you insisting items that are better left behind. No matter if it is a nasty breakup or bad job interview, or anything in between, don't let those things drag you down.



—from 101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire



Julia thought for a second that her mind was playing tricks on her. But no, there they were. In the lower-right-hand corner of the magazine, staring her in the face, were large, bold letters that read: LANCE COLLINS—NOT JUST A PASSING FAD!



"Ma'am," Julia said as she moved and sat next to the older woman across the aisle.



"Yes, dear?" the woman said in a beautiful Irish lilt. "May I. . . ?" Julia gestured to the magazine, completely unable to finish her sentence, certainly incapable of walking twenty feet to a newsstand to buy her own copy.



"Why, certainly, dear," the woman said, and handed the



magazine to Julia, who felt her breath catch as she looked down at the black-and-white photo on the cover.



She ripped through the pages until she saw his face again. She looked at the smile that he used to give to her and realized that he was now giving it to America. A pang of jealousy ripped through her, and she began to read.



LANCE COLLINS: NOT JUST A PASSING FAD



In an all-night bakery in TriBeCa, Lance Collins looks like a lot of other men. Look closer. You might notice his smile first; most people do. Or maybe his gray eyes and dark brown hair. Maybe his large hands and firm grip as he stands and welcomes you to the table. You think you've seen him before, but you just can't put your finger on where. Well, don't worry. In seven months, when the first of his three new blockbuster films hits theaters, his will be a face you won't be able to forget. For now, you remember the pictures of him with a certain self-help diva who shall remain nameless, and you think, again, that he reminds you of someone you maybe had a crush on once. Guess what? You're probably right.



When I met Hollywood's latest "It" boy, a few blocks from where he's just begun shooting a new movie, I had to do a double take myself.



FAD: Thanks for making the time to meet with me. Our readers are dying to learn more about you.



LC: Oh, thanks. It's really no trouble. Glad to do it.



FAD: So, I'm just going to lay this out there. What is your relationship with Julia James?



LC: (laughs) She's a friend. A wonderful person. I wish her all the best.



FAD: Is it true that your relationship was fabricated to boost her sales and launch your career?



LC: That would be kind of hard, considering we never had a relationship and neither one of us ever claimed to. Look, people can believe what they want, what they read, if they're gullible enough. But there's no way a guy like me deserves a woman like that.



FAD: Our female readers will find that hard to believe.



LC: Don't worry, your male readers will know exactly what I'm talking about.



FAD: You're working with A-list people on an A-list project now. How does that feel?



LC: I'm eating better than I have in years, and I'm not tending bar anymore, (smiles) But all joking aside, it feels great. This is what I do. I act. It's great to be acting, period. If you get to do it with the best in the business, all the better.



FAD: What about fame?



LC: (sips his coffee) What about it?



FAD: You saw it growing up with your dad. Academy Award Winner Robert Wells, but you're not using his last name now. Your former agent released that fact to the press, that you come from acting royalty and yet have chosen to use Collins, your mother's maiden name. Why?



LC: (he smirks—ladies, watch out for that) I changed my name. My dad is pretty famous. Okay, We look a lot alike, but we're not cloneThe nepotism in life, in any career, especially good show or bad. I wanted to make it, but I wanted to own merit. That's why the Julia thing never ( ? ) .Why would I do that to her, put her through  that, My Iast was a famous name? I had that to begin with.



FAD: You're just friends?



LC: (takes a slow drink of coffee) Yeah.



( ? ) Lance Collins might have had two stble at tan, I look at the eyes and smile he inherited from his father and I realize that like it or not, when AmufnJ y> close look at Lance Collins, fame is probably ■ i i



Unlike the barrage of reality-show sti , ,i . generation wannabes, this "It" boy is de-.tn . i.« % ,■