Love Sold Separately

by Ellen Meister

  The corner of his mouth went up. “Is that what you normally do—fuck things up?”

  “In general, yes. But I was hoping that for once I could be an adult and have a real job and maybe not get axed before I have a chance to pay off my credit cards.”

  She thought he looked at her differently then—like his opinion of her had just gone up a notch. Or maybe he just found it amusing that she wasn’t your average, well-behaved TV hostess who liked to get high once in a while.

  “When was the last time you were fired?” he asked.

  “Is this part of your investigation?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  She shrugged. “About two weeks ago. From a mall store where teenagers buy stuff they think is rebellious, using their parents’ money.”

  “Two weeks ago you worked in a mall store?”

  “You see what I mean?” she said. “This is my big break. If I blow this, it’s all over.”

  He folded his arms. “Tell me again what happened just before you heard the gunshot.”

  “I had just had an audition and was waiting to hear if I got the job. Lorenzo offered to give me a tour of the building and he thought the roof was pretty cool. So we came up here. That’s really the whole story. Except for the part about the joint. I was stressed and thought it would chill me out a little. That’s it. Then we heard the shot and went running downstairs.”

  “And your relationship with Mr. DeSantis?”

  “There is no relationship. That was only the second time I met him.”

  “And yet you felt comfortable enough with him to take out a joint?”

  “You’ve seen Lorenzo. Does he look like the judgmental type to you?”

  The detective ignored her question. “And he never left your sight during that time?”

  “Never. Now can I have my joint back, please? Pretty please? I’d really like to keep this job.”

  He went silent as he considered that, and Dana stared at him. As the seconds ticked by, she became aware of her own breathing. Say yes, she thought. Say yes. Just reach into your pocket and pull out the plastic bag.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he finally said. “Tell me what happened at the mall store to get you fired and I’ll give you back the joint.”

  “Seriously?” she asked.

  “Seriously.”

  Dana squinted at him. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She let out a long breath. It didn’t. And clearly, this guy was prone to asking questions, but not answering them. Her only conclusion was that he found her wayward behavior entertaining.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, considering where to begin. “So I was having a bad day and I let it get the better of me. I made a snide comment to a boy who came in looking for black lipstick.”

  Detective Marks’s smirk widened into a smile. She actually saw teeth. And they were nice, too. This hardboiled detective had worn braces.

  “And that was a firing offense?” he asked.

  “Well, he dragged his mom back into the store and in the midst of her screaming at the manager to fire me, I may have suggested that she buy the black lipstick for herself to improve her looks.”

  The detective got his face back under control, though she could still sense a smile under the surface. He pulled the baggie out of his pocket. “You earned this back, Ms. Barry,” he said, holding it just out of her reach.

  “Call me Dana,” she said, opening her palm.

  Detective Ari Marks placed the baggie in her hand, then turned and walked toward the door to the building.

  “Wait a second, Detective,” she called out. “Are you investigating the married man Kitty Todd was having an affair with?”

  He stopped and faced her. “Where did you hear that?”

  “From Ollie, sort of. He’s my assistant now and he let it slip.”

  He gave a small nod. “Good night, Ms. Barry.”

  So much for her request to be on a first-name basis. Clearly, he was set on keeping this relationship professional, despite breaking protocol to return the weed. It was probably for the best. The guy was too good-looking. Too tall. Too divorced. She didn’t need to be tempted.

  “Good night, Detective.”

  He opened the door to the building and went through it. Just before it closed she heard him say, “Nice jacket.”

  12

  Dana bristled. If this guy thought he could charm her, he was dead wrong. Even if he did have nice teeth and eyes the color of the sky on a winter morning.

  After making a quick stop at home, she took the subway downtown to the small theater where the Sweat City Company was meeting. She had already told them she would have to quit, but she wanted to say goodbye in person.

  She found the troupe in the backstage area they referred to as their green room. It was really a dark alcove separated from the rest of the area by a musty red velvet curtain Dana assumed was a leftover prop from some period piece performed long ago. The walls were painted black, and the furnishings consisted of two mismatched sofas, several worn chairs and a wooden crate they used as a coffee table. When Dana arrived, the group was sitting around trying to rework their summer schedule. They had been planning to do a production of Mrs. Woodbridge, with Dana as the lead. Now, though, they were discussing whether they could still manage it, as the next most likely member to play the title role was Carolyn Beattie, who was having neck surgery in a few weeks.

  “Sit next to me, traitor,” said her friend Tyrel when she entered. He patted a spot on the sofa, unselfconscious about the tremor in his hand. When he first joined the group, he had explained to everyone that it was from a medication he took to control his borderline personality disorder. Dana thought the world would be a better place if everyone were as open about their issues as theater people.

  “Don’t joke,” she said, lowering herself onto the sofa. “I’m feeling too guilty to take it kindly.”

  “Oh, come on,” he said, giving her a hug. “Don’t you dare. We’re thrilled for you.”

  “Seriously, Dana,” said one of her actress friends. “You’re not allowed to feel guilty. That’s grounds for having your SAG card revoked.”

  “I don’t want you to have to give up on this play,” Dana said.

  “I don’t know that we have a choice,” said Nathan, the director. “I’m looking at a couple of other scripts.”

  Dana glanced at Raj Mahajan, an actor with paraplegia who had been cast as Mrs. Woodbridge’s wise and irascible husband, an ex-athlete who used a wheelchair. The role was a show-stealer, and a tremendous opportunity for a talented actor with limited options. Despite the warnings, guilt gurgled in her gut like acid.

  “What about Rachel?” she asked, nodding at the willowy blonde who could, at the very least, pull off the role visually, given the right wig. Even as she said it, though, Dana understood that it would be a struggle for this newest member of their troupe. Mrs. Woodbridge was a monster role. Dana was heartsick over giving it up.

  “I just don’t think I’m ready,” Rachel said.

  No one argued with her.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Sylvia said. “I’d get laughed off the stage.”

  Her leading man sat in the corner, staring down at his hands, and Dana almost started crying. “I’m so sorry, Raj,” she said, and turned to Nathan. “Can you put it on the schedule for the fall, when Carolyn is recovered?”

  “I don’t think we’ll be able to get the rights,” he said.

  “I guess an audition is out of the question?” Dana asked, though she already knew the answer. The Sweat City players were committed to their ensemble’s bylaws, which included the rule that new members played supporting roles for their first year with the troupe. Bringing in a new actor was a big deal, and there was almost no chance they would make an exception and agree t
o thrust her into a lead.

  Nathan shook his head. “We voted on it.”

  “This is a nightmare,” Dana said.

  “Hey, it’s showbiz,” Tyrel responded, doing jazz hands.

  He meant to make her laugh, but Dana had a lump in her throat the size of a large rat. “I hope you guys know I would have fought the noncompete clause if I—”

  “Of course we know,” Sylvia said.

  Nathan walked over to Dana and put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll work something out.”

  She trusted Nathan, and knew what he meant. He’d find a script that wouldn’t shortchange a single member of the troupe. Still, it would be a massive pain in the ass, and it was all her fault.

  Dana rubbed her forehead and imagined staying with the group, consequences be damned. She’d get caught, of course, and would have no excuse, no way to play dumb after the conversations she’d had with Megan and Sherry. Then she’d lose her contract and possibly even get sued. And despite herself, Dana discovered that she actually liked the damned job—was, in fact, still high off her triumphant first day—and was hoping to keep it long after the murder investigation was wrapped up and Lorenzo was exonerated.

  If only Sweat City didn’t promote so aggressively, with the names of its members on every poster and on the cover of every program. There was simply no way to keep her commitment to the group while flying under the radar. And then...an idea. Dana turned it one way and then the other, examining it for flaws. It was so simple. A little dangerous, sure, but she could mitigate all that. “My God,” she murmured, barely realizing she had said it out loud.

  “What is it?” Cyndi asked.

  “I think... I think I may have a solution.” Her heart thudded in her chest, which she knew was probably a warning to leave the idea alone and stick to the game plan. But damn, it could work. It could!

  Raj picked his head up. “Seriously?”

  Dana swallowed hard. “Kayla Bean,” she said.

  “Who’s Kayla Bean?” Nathan asked.

  Dana held out her arms to indicate that he was, in fact, resting his eyes upon the very woman.

  “You?” Raj asked.

  “Why not? It’s a cool stage name, isn’t it?”

  “Is that a loophole in your Shopping Channel contract or something?” Tyrel asked.

  “Hell, no,” she said. “That thing is airtight. But if I perform under a stage name, how would they ever find out?”

  “Someone could see you,” Nathan said. “In the play. Those squeaky things out front are seats. People sit in them, watch the performances.”

  “But there are only eighty of them,” she said. “What are the chances someone from the Shopping Channel would see me?”

  “Your face will be known, honey,” Tyrel said. “Someone could spot you and then word would get out.”

  “I’ll wear a wig, maybe a prosthetic nose.”

  “That could actually work,” said Rachel.

  Nathan shook his head. “I can’t let you put yourself in that kind of jeopardy.”

  “Nathan is right,” Cyndi said. “It’s too chancy. If you got in trouble—”

  “We can’t let you risk so much,” Raj added.

  “Shouldn’t that be up to me?” Dana asked.

  Nathan paced around the room, thinking, and everyone followed him with their eyes, waiting for some kind of definitive opinion—something that would put everyone on the same page. He walked the perimeter of the room twice, and finally stopped behind Raj.

  “Well?” asked Dana. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking,” he said, massaging the muscles on the back of Raj’s neck, “that we should take a vote.”

  13

  The biggest problem, as far as Dana could see, would be keeping her secret from Megan, who would want to know where Dana was on those evenings she was busy rehearsing with Sweat City. She hated lying to her friend, but she had no choice. The challenge would be inventing a story that would hold up. Maybe she would tell her she was taking French lessons. No, cooking classes. Maybe French cooking classes. That would work.

  Meanwhile, the danger of her double life gave Dana an electric charge. She even discovered there was something liberating about performing under a pseudonym. Free from the worry of people judging the talent of Dana Barry, she let herself go into the role in a way that felt new to her. The rehearsal that followed the vote had been a revelation.

  “Damn, girl,” Tyrel had said. “If you don’t watch it we’ll wind up on Broadway, and then you’ll be hip-deep in the shit.”

  “But happy shit,” Dana said, as it was hard to imagine such a thing being bad news, even if it meant getting fired from the Shopping Channel. Okay, so she could get sued. But still. Broadway!

  It was ridiculous, of course—utterly farfetched. But as an actor, such dreams kept her going.

  At work the next day, after Adam Weintraub briefed her on the products she would be selling in her show, Dana asked if Sherry had been impressed with her sales the day before.

  “She doesn’t impress easily,” Adam said.

  “But she was pleased?”

  “She wasn’t displeased. That’s about as good as it gets with her.”

  It was time then for hair and makeup. Dana hoped to pump Felicia and Jo for dirt on Kitty’s affair with Charles Honeycutt, but Ollie insisted on accompanying her, and again, she couldn’t think of an excuse to leave him behind. She was starting to wonder if it might have been a mistake to take this guy as her assistant.

  Afterward, as she walked with Ollie to the elevator, he filled her in on the Bastina shifts Irini would be bringing by.

  “I saw photos, Dana,” Ollie said. “Very pretty dresses. Short. I think you’ll like these.”

  He pushed the down button for the elevator, and when the doors slid open, there stood Charles Honeycutt with a very attractive forty-ish black woman in a purple knit dress and a diamond ring that seemed to need its own circuit breaker. She was fit, with ten-mile legs highlighted by a pair of tan suede pumps.

  “Ah, there’s Dana,” Charles said, as if he’d been talking about her. He introduced her to his wife, Victoria, and said they were going out to lunch for her birthday.

  “Happy birthday!” Dana said, and studied the woman’s face for any signs she might know she was married to a cheater. But she was as cool as a frozen margarita made with top-shelf tequila, and twice as fancy. She exuded confidence, and Dana sensed that she was a successful professional in her own right—a lawyer, perhaps. Or maybe an executive like her husband.

  Then Dana glanced at Charles Honeycutt’s face to see if there was anything in his eyes to indicate that he might be a murderer. But there was nothing in his countenance that telegraphed a sinister beast lurking beneath the surface. If anything, he seemed relaxed—like a man who just returned from vacation.

  When they got off the elevator, Dana turned to Ollie, determined to use this opportunity to squeeze him for information. But when she saw his face she paused. There was a whole story in his expression, though she couldn’t quite tell what it was. He looked pleased but uncertain, his eyes moist.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. They are a fine couple. Happy.”

  “Yes, that’s how they seem.”

  He cleared his throat. “Miss Irini is meeting us at your dressing room. We must get there now.”

  Not exactly a slippery dodge. This guy moved out of the line of fire like there was gum on his shoes. “Ollie,” she said, “tell me what’s upsetting you.”

  “I am not upset, Dana. I am very glad to think that Mr. Honeycutt will not leave his wife. This is good.”

  “Was there trouble in the marriage, as far as you know?”

  He shrugged.

  “You can tell me,” she said, leaning in. “Is Mr. H
oneycutt the man who was in love with Kitty?”

  His eyes filled with fear. “I can’t tell you that, Dana.”

  She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I know you want to protect her. That’s noble, but—”

  “But she is gone,” he said, nodding. “Yes, Dana. I understand. But I don’t wish to get Mr. Honeycutt in trouble.”

  If he murdered Kitty, she thought, the last thing he deserves is your protection. “You didn’t tell the detective about him?”

  “No, I...I told him I didn’t know who Miss Kitty’s boyfriend was, only that he was married.”

  “Why would you say such a thing, Ollie? The detective needs to investigate.”

  “He wouldn’t hurt her! I know this! They were so much in love. But if the police know it was Mr. Honeycutt, they will think the worst. You must not tell them, Dana. Please. Miss Kitty trusted me with this very big secret.”

  “Ollie, even if you’re right about their romance—”

  “I am right, Dana! You should see what he bought for her. A necklace with a heart of diamonds! A watch. A special bed for her house—big and with memory foam. So expensive! And the flowers. All the times, the flowers!”

  “And he was going to leave his wife for Kitty? You’re sure of this?”

  “Yes, they wanted to be together forever. She was so happy in love with this man, Dana. And he was with her, too.”

  “Does Mr. Honeycutt have kids?” she asked.

  “Two girls,” Ollie said. “Very sad. But he was going to make new family with Miss Kitty.”

  Dana supposed it was possible, but she doubted it. From what she saw, Charles Honeycutt had it all—a drop-dead gorgeous successful wife, a great career, a couple of kids. To Dana, it seemed highly unlikely he was ready to walk away from all that.

  They rounded the corner of the hallway and saw Irini pushing a rack of colorful frocks toward Dana’s dressing room.

  “I will leave you with Miss Irini now,” Ollie said, holding open the door. “Please tell me when you are finished.”