That Hazel. She was something. Opening the summer season had been the last thing that Dean had wanted to do, but he owed Atillio and Stella for the way that both they, and the town, had embraced him. After that first incident with the ladies who chased him into Hazel’s house, Atillio must have put the word out that Dean was to have some peace. Not a soul had approached him since that day. There was a part of this forced aloneness that was lovely and peaceful, but another part that was… lonely. He wasn’t kidding himself that there was a spark with Hazel, was he? There was something there. She was annoying and prickly, and so uptight, but there was another Hazel under the surface. He’d never met anyone who genuinely didn’t know who he was. Hazel hadn’t known, and even now that she did know, she didn't care.

Since the day he’d moved to Hollywood, every person he’d met had wanted something from him. They wanted to be close to him, not because they thought he was attractive, or admirable, but because he had something they wanted, be it contacts, information, or merely reflected glory. Hazel didn’t want a thing. He didn’t think she even wanted to be around him, which made him want to be around her even more.  This was unlike clingy Isabella, whose absence, now that she had an excuse to be absent, made him realize she didn’t want him either, just the things he came with. His phone rang. Adam. Speaking of Hollywood. The anxiety rush was instantaneous. He considered not picking up.

“Hey, Adam,” Dean said. “How’s it going over there?”

“Hey, buddy! All’s rocking over here. Ed’s calmed down now. To be honest, I think he’s enjoying the break. Someone said he’s been shooting movies non-stop since Christmas. How’s Borgoboring?”

He couldn’t help the annoyance that crept into his reply. “It’s not boring, Adam. These are decent people. It’s nice, you know?”

“Yeah, of course I know; nice and boring. But if it’s good for you, then it’s good for me. Take your time and focus on getting well.”

“Take my time?” Dean’s left eyebrow lifted through a will of its own.

“Yeah, no rush. Take your time.”

“Adam, what’s going on? In the hospital room, and at my house, you were screaming at me that I have to hurry and get better. At first, you told me Ed wasn’t pissed, then you told me he was. Am I taking my time, or am I hurrying up? What’s really going on?”

Adam chuckled, and Dean heard him take a suck on a cigarette. A disgusting habit that Dean had been trying to get him to quit for years. “Calm down, buddy! Nothing is going on, other than everyone cheering you on. You know we all want you back here where you belong. But, if you are enjoying it there, then take your time, that’s all. Gotta go, I was just checking in.”

“Hold on, I’ll get Sara.”

“No, don’t,” Strain crept into his voice, and Dean’s warning bells went off. What was going on between the two of them? “I’ll speak to her later,” he continued.” You take care now.”

Dean sat for a moment considering that hasty exit. What had Dean called him for in the first place if he wasn’t calling Sara? Just to tell him to take his time? Someone sniffed loudly. He looked up. Stella was standing in the doorway. Man, that woman was quiet.

“He is not a good man, that Adam.”

Dean stood and crossed to her. “He’s my best friend, Stella,” he said, rubbing her shoulder. “I’m sorry that he and Sara are having problems, but he is a good man.”

“Not a good man,” Stella insisted. “He sends you here for a reason. We don’t know why. But he wants you away. Maybe you should wonder, why?”

“He sent me here because he wants me to get better.” Dean smiled at her. “He knows your home cooking can cure all ills. If only it wasn’t making me so fat!” He patted his washboard stomach and punched her lightly on her shoulder.

“Pah! Fat! You are a modelo!” She punched him back, a lot harder, and left the room. It was clear she’d gotten the message. Adam was an off limits topic as far as Dean was concerned.

Did Adam want him away? Was there something going on over there? Like what? Adam needed him as much as he needed Adam. If Dean couldn’t make the film, then Adam wouldn’t make the money. But, yesterday morning at breakfast Sara had shown him a photo in Chi (the Italian version of a tabloid magazine). Adam was exiting a restaurant, and a few steps behind him was Christopher Brook, the new Hollywood wonder boy. Brook’s last two films had smashed box office records, so he was a hot commodity. Sara seemed concerned, but Dean didn’t take it too seriously. Everyone in LA was schmoozing Christopher Brooks; so, of course, Adam would too. In the movie industry, good connections were everything. It was no big deal.

Dean crossed over to the wardrobe and pulled the equipment bag from the floor behind his empty suitcase. Time to start working on this problem of his. He couldn’t just ignore it forever.

He drew the tripod out of the heavy bag and set it up in the corner of the room. Next, he reached for the fancy black camera. He squelched the slight flutter in his belly. Closing his eyes to limit his exposure, he felt his way over to the tripod, the camera tucked under his arm. It only made sense. He had to open his eyes when he attached the camera to the base, but he was careful not to look at the lens., In a few minutes he wouldn’t be able to avoid it. Closing his eyes again he felt for the “On” switch and removed the lens cap. He took several tiny steps back, holding his arms behind him in case he went too far and hit the bed. His hands must have been held too high because on his last step backward he slammed his calf into the bed frame. “Damn.” A long slow, inhalation of fluttering breath… and he opened his eyes.

It was surprisingly sudden. He was instantly hit by a tidal wave of terror. The sweat started pouring from his forehead, so he lifted a hand up to wipe his sloppy brow, and the world went black. He went down. A few seconds later he slowly opened his eyes. The cracked plaster of the ceiling above him was spinning; like five whiskeys with Adam after a successful premiere, spinning. He closed them again quickly. Had he passed out? Maybe. He couldn’t tell. But, he had no freaking clue how he was going to stand up, walk to the camera and turn it off. He decided to stay still a while. Then he heard that signature, annoyed sniff. Thank God for the nosy, but lovely, Stella.

“What do you do there on the floor, crazy man?” She rushed over and started patting his forehead with the dishcloth that was like an extension of her right hand. It smelled like garlic. “Sara!”

“I’m sorry, Stella, but could you do me a favor? Could you go and switch off that camera and move it into the closet, please?”

The comforting, warm bulk of her disappeared from his limited view, and Sara’s face hovered over him.

“What’s going on Deany? Are you okay? Shall we call the doctor?” Her face was a comforting picture of worry. He’d been feeling pretty lonely just minutes before, but her worry wrinkles reminded him that he had friends.

He hoisted himself to a sitting position and focused on steadying his spinning head. Stella bustled past with the camera, and he averted his eyes. “No doctor, thanks, Sara. But I’m clearly not okay, as you can see. You’re witnessing the result of me trying to stand in front of a live, video camera.”

“Oh, Dean.” Sara patted him on the arm, and Stella came storming back to the two of them, pushing Sara (who protested with a loud “Mama!”) out of the way.

“Enough of this stuff!” Stella was pointing her finger at Dean’s face; her face was such a picture of rage that he had trouble holding in a laugh. This woman was way too sweet to be scary. “If you want to get better you need to stay away from movie crap.” She turned to Sara, “Crap, right? Crap is a good word?”

Sara was also trying to restrain a giggle. “Yes, Mama. Crap is a good word.”

“Right!” She turned back to Dean, her finger still wagging menacingly. “Enough of this crap! What you need is some real work. Some work with your hands. You do proper work and then maybe your head will straighten enough for this play work you do. Can you do real work?”

The image of old man Foster and his shed popped back into his head. He hadn’t thought about him in years and yet here he was appearing twice in the same week. Maybe it was a message. “I can do real work. I can do carpentry.”

“Yes!” Stella threw her hands up in the air in triumph. “Now that’s real work. Not crap! You do that!” She turned and stormed out of the room.

Sara and Dean exchanged a look and then both burst into laughter. She walked over and hugged him.

“She’s opinionated, Deany, but she has a point. Maybe it would be good for you to take your mind off of things for a while.”

He was starting to see how serious this situation was. He’d thought the initial collapse an isolated thing. He’d agreed to go away for a while, just assuming he’d go back as soon as everyone had calmed down and continue as he always had. But how could he continue with his career when he couldn’t stand in front of a camera? Maybe Stella was right. Maybe he needed to take his mind off of things for a while? A job would be distracting and satisfying. He could also think of other distractions that he’d discovered in Borgotaro, but he wouldn’t be mentioning that to Sara.

He nodded at her. “I guess if Mama says it’s not crap, then it’s good enough for me. Do you think I can find anyone who would take me on? I mean I’ll do it for free.”

A slow smile spread across Sara’s face, “Yeah - I think we can find someone.”