Power Play

by Deirdre Martin

  Like me? Monica wondered. Was that what he was leaving unspoken? A lump formed in her throat. Monty’s words sent her into a tailspin. She wasn’t an artist. She was a hack. She had no integrity. If she did, she would have held out for meaningful roles, no matter how scarce. She would not have taken this job ten years ago.

  Get out of your own head, she told herself. Focus on the task at hand.

  “Just do the scene,” Monica coaxed. “As a favor to me. Die quietly, and I’ll never ask you to do anything again, all right?”

  “As you wish.”

  Monica looked up at the booth. “He’s ready to go.”

  “You and Eric are getting great ink.”

  Monica was reassured by Theresa’s smile as she pushed a copy of that week’s Celebrity magazine across the desk, pointing out the “New Romance” pages. There were two pictures of Monica and Eric: one of them on the steps of the museum, the other of them outside of Dijon. The caption read, “Considered one of Manhattan’s hottest bachelors, NHL star Eric Mitchell has been seen out and about in New York with W and F’s favorite leading lady, Monica Geary. Will he be a bachelor for long?”

  Monica smiled, pleased, pushing the magazine back. “That’s great.” She had to admit, she and Eric looked so good together it was scary. She was pretty sure she’d never “gone out” with anyone so attractive.

  “Lou Capesi called me,” Theresa continued. “He’s going to be able to get the picture of you with the Blades into the Blades program for home games for the rest of the season. It would be wonderful if you could go with Eric to some charity functions.”

  “That seems doable,” Monica said unenthusiastically.

  Theresa raised a quizzical eyebrow but continued, “I love that you and Eric are generating copy. But I’m not sure how much of an impact that’s going to have on your standing on the show. We need to do some things that reach your fans specifically. I hate to ride you on this, but when was the last time you met with the New York chapter of your fan club?”

  Monica looked down at her hands. “Last year,” she admitted.

  “Not good.”

  “I know.”

  “You need to get in touch with the fan club president and arrange to do a lunch with them. You need to do some signings with your costars. You haven’t done any of those in a while, either. I checked.”

  Monica turned pink. “I don’t know why I let it slide.”

  “Content to rest on your laurels, maybe?” Theresa suggested.

  Monica fought the urge to slink out of the office in shame. She’d been leading lady on W and F for close to a decade now. She’d paid her dues and had gotten to the point where she assumed things would keep rolling along. But now, sitting here today, hearing Theresa bluntly call her out, her presumption embarrassed her. It was the fans who had helped make her the star she was today, and she’d taken them for granted.

  “I hate admitting it, but you’re right,” said Monica. “I have been coasting.”

  “Easily remedied,” Theresa assured her. “Do the fan club thing, do more signings, and let the soap press know you’re available to talk about anything and everything. I’ll also call in-house PR at the show and speak with them.” Theresa hesitated. “I have noticed that new actress is getting a lot of coverage in the daytime press.”

  “I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

  “Wrong move. Read every word that’s written about her. Then we can strategize about how to position you in comparison.”

  Monica bit at the tip of her thumb. “Is it wrong for me to want to make sure she doesn’t eclipse me?”

  Theresa looked at her as though she were crazy. “This is your livelihood we’re talking about here, Monica. Being the hot new thing sometimes trumps talent. You have to start working it, girl.”

  Monica wondered what Monty would say about all this. They hadn’t spoken since he finished his deathbed scene. Monica was still too upset to call or check in on him. One minute she’d think, You ungrateful old bastard. The next, her insecurity would creep to the fore. What if he was right? What if she was completely without integrity? Especially now, when it felt like her primary concern in life was making sure Chesty didn’t become more of a fan favorite than she was. At least she had the comfort of knowing that deep down, lots of actors were insecure.

  “I’ll begin working it,” Monica promised Theresa.

  Theresa looked pleased. “Good. One more thing: You should probably go to a hockey game. Be supportive of your man.”

  Monica frowned. “Right. Eric mentioned that, actually.”

  “How’s it going with Eric?” Theresa murmured, ignoring her ringing phone.

  Monica sounded noncommittal. “All right.”

  “Is he as horrible as you thought he’d be?”

  “No,” Monica muttered reluctantly.

  Theresa looked at her with interest. “You holding out on me?”

  “What?” Monica felt confused. “What would I be holding out on?”

  “That maybe the you two are enjoying each other’s company for real?”

  “He’s as good an actor as I am, Theresa. Period. The fact that I can tolerate him—in short bursts—doesn’t mean we’re on the road to real romance.”

  Theresa shrugged her shoulders. “You’re seeing him this weekend, I hope? Out and about in public?”

  “Of course.”

  “Any place where I should steer the press?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  Eric had invited her to his place to talk after she was done with Theresa. She had been racking her brain, trying to think of things they could do this weekend. She didn’t want to go to dinner again. Maybe a play? A trip to a museum? She nixed that idea fast; paparazzi wouldn’t come to a museum. Maybe they’d just take a walk in Central Park. She’d talk to Eric and see what Mr. “I live for the cameras when I’m off the ice” had to say.

  A thought suddenly gripped her. “How much longer do you think the paparazzi will even continue to care?” she asked Theresa.

  “As long as you’re out there working it,” Theresa replied. “And if Eric’s getting a lot of press as a Blade, winning over the New York fans, that will help a lot, too.”

  Monica rose. “Whatever you say.”

  “Trust me,” said Theresa.

  “I do,” Monica said simply.

  She had to.

  “So this is it,” said Eric. “Chateau Mitchell. At least one of them. My brother lives up the street. So his place is Chateau Mitchell, too.”

  Eric seemed slightly nervous as he ushered Monica into his apartment. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. A pair of bronzed skates on a coffee table? Back issues of Sports Illustrated stacked in a corner? Mirrored walls so Eric could adore himself ? Her assumptions made her realize what a snob she could be. Just because he was a jock didn’t mean his place would be decorated badly.

  In truth, his apartment had a touch of the interior designer about it. Sisal rugs, modern art on the walls, nice leather furniture. Monica turned to him. “Who was your designer?”

  Eric seemed surprised by the question. “What? Me.”

  “Oh, c’mon. No straight man could pull a place like this together.”

  “On behalf of all straight men everywhere, I’m insulted.” He gestured toward the couch, and she sat down.

  “Seriously,” Monica said, running her hand over the buttery leather arm of the couch. “Who did your place?”

  Eric sighed. “Some woman named Thea McNamara. She almost bankrupted me. But I didn’t have the time or inclination to do it myself.”

  Monica nodded approvingly. “She did a good job.”

  Eric sat down beside her. “How are you?” he asked quietly, rubbing her shoulder. “Coping okay?”

  It took Monica a moment to realize he was referring to her costar’s death. She was suffering brain freeze, the direct result of his hand being in contact with her body.

  “I’m fine,” she said crisply, removing his
hand. “There’s no one here watching us,” she pointed out to him when he looked surprised. “You don’t have to put on a show.”

  Eric reared back in surprise. “I was just trying to be nice.”

  “And I appreciate that,” Monica replied, maintaining her brisk tone. She’d decided it would be all acting from now on. No more being impressed by his knowing CPR and the concern he just showed for her. No more losing herself in kisses designed to deceive those around them. “Let’s talk business.”

  “Fine.” His voice was now as brisk as hers.

  “I saw Theresa Dante before I came here.” Monica frowned. “Why did I come here? Why did you want to meet here?”

  Eric rolled his eyes. “You sound like Roxie.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Suspicious and melodramatic.”

  Ouch. Who was being slapped down now? Monica felt a sense of creeping apprehension. What if Eric was sick of their charade? If he ended it now, she’d wind up looking like one of the blonde scalps on his belt.

  “I didn’t mean to sound that way,” she said hastily. “It just seemed unusual.”

  “We are supposed to be going out. What’s so unusual about you coming over to my place? I’ve seen your place. I just thought a little reciprocation was in order. That’s all. No big evil agenda.” Eric folded his arms across his chest, the classic defensive posture. “You were saying about Theresa?”

  “She said we were doing well. I need to do some more soap things to keep my profile high with my fans. As for us, she suggested I go to one of your games. She said as long as you’re getting a lot of press as a Blade, that’ll help us, too.” Eric grimaced with pain. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m getting press all right,” he muttered. “I’m sucking out on the ice. Completely sucking. I don’t know what the hell is going on. I’ve played two games so far and have played like shit in both of them. This is not the way to kick off being the new guy in town, okay? Especially not in this town.”

  Monica hesitated a moment, then put her hand on his shoulder. “It’ll get better. From what I’ve heard and read, you’re really talented.”

  “Yesterday doesn’t matter,” Eric countered harshly, as if her compliment didn’t matter. He’s hard on himself, Monica thought. The way she was. Monica removed her hand. “I’ll come to your next game,” she suggested, hoping to cheer him up. “Maybe I’ll be your good luck charm.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Eric said listlessly. “Shit, I haven’t offered you anything to drink.”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  Eric shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

  “So, this weekend,” Monica said brightly, trying to pull him out of the nosedive she could see him going into. “I was thinking we could—”

  “I’m not going to be around this weekend. I’ll be in North Dakota.”

  “Game?”

  “Visiting my parents. On their farm.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Monica offered immediately, maybe too immediately. Eric was staring at her as if she’d just revealed she kicked little old ladies for fun. “Think about it,” she continued as the idea began taking firm root inside her. “Theresa tells the press, and they start to speculate that things are getting serious. Isn’t there a mall in Bismarck or something? We could do an appearance.”

  Eric looked perturbed. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’d have to act all weekend, day and night. In front of my family.”

  “So?”

  “I don’t know if I can do it,” said Eric. “Also, my mom will go totally mental if I bring you home. Not only is she a huge fan, but I’ve never—” He abruptly stopped.

  “Never what?”

  “Brought anyone home to meet my folks.”

  Monica stared at him incredulously. “Ever? In your life?”

  “Does high school count?”

  “No.”

  “Then no, I never have.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my mother would go mental, like I said.”

  And because you’ve never really had a serious relationship in your life, Monica thought to herself, though she had no proof of that.

  “Have you ever brought anyone home?” Eric challenged.

  “Twice. Once in college. I was going out with a guy who was a mime.” She glared. “Laugh, and I’ll punch your lights out.”

  “Won’t. I promise.” He looked on the verge of howling.

  “Anyway,” Monica continued, “you can imagine how that went over with my blue-blood clan. My brother asked him to mime being penniless and standing in the unemployment line.” Eric started to laugh, but Monica shot him a sharp sideways glance, and he halted mid-guffaw. “The second guy was an actor.”

  “Lance Ormond,” Eric supplied.

  “How did you know that?” Monica asked uneasily.

  “I’m a fan, remember? I know lots of things.”

  “Riiight.” Monica didn’t want to think about it. “One of my disastrous showmances. Anyway, I brought him home to a big family party. Two hours later, I found him necking with my cousin in the pantry. That was the end of Lance.”

  Eric whistled. “That must have been tough.”

  “It is what it is,” Monica declared stoically. The memory still smarted, which pissed her off. It was years ago. Maybe there were some humiliations you never got over, like when a boyfriend not fit to lick your boots cheats on you, confirming every feeling of insecurity you’ve ever had about yourself.

  Eric’s expression turned suave. “What do you think your folks would think of me?”

  “I think they’d be thrilled I brought home someone with testosterone.”

  “God knows I’ve got enough of that,” Eric murmured in a low, sultry voice.

  “News flash: Jerk Eric is making an appearance. Not liking it.”

  “Wow. You’re really critical today.” He absently scratched his forearm. “Forget coming with me to the farm. My parents would drive us insane, and there’s no way I could be ‘pretend boyfriend Eric’ for forty-eight hours, especially with my asshole brother watching our every move. He totally suspects this whole thing is bullshit. At the very least, he finds it very hard to believe that you could ever be into me.”

  “I’ve been nominated for three Daytime Drama Awards. I can make him believe it.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t have any acting awards, so I don’t know if I can keep it up for that long.”

  Suddenly realizing what he’d said, their eyes met. And they both laughed.

  “That wasn’t intentional,” Eric explained.

  “I know,” Monica admitted, smiling.

  Monica was surprised: She was eager to go to North Dakota with him. It would be an adventure. She was always game for new experiences, and spending time at a farm was something she’d never done. It might even help with her acting somewhere along the line; it would give her memories and feelings to draw on.

  “We can pull this off, Eric.”

  “I worry it’s a crummy thing to do to my folks.”

  He has a conscience, thought Monica, pleasantly surprised. Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter . . .

  “You don’t have to tell them what’s up. You can just tell them we split up later on.”

  Eric contemplated this. “That’s true.” He sighed. “Okay. I guess you can come. But I don’t think a signing at the mall is a good idea. Let’s just keep it a family deal, all right?”

  “Fine. What should I bring to wear?” Monica asked brightly.

  “You got any overalls? Maybe you and I could pose for a picture outside my folks’ house with me holding a pitchfork.”

  “Excuse me, it’s a legitimate question,” Monica huffed.

  “Bring jeans. Sweaters. Some shoes or boots you don’t mind getting mud on. Oh, and bring your appetite. My mom is going to try to stuff you with food, and she’ll be insulted if you don’t eat. So none
of this poking-at-your-salad actress stuff.”

  Monica hid her distress. Food? “I’m not going to find anything on my plate that was in your parents’ barn mooing the week before, am I?”

  “Relax. It’s a dairy farm.” Eric grinned. “I can show you how to milk a cow if you’d like.”

  “I don’t think so,” Monica said primly. She rose. “I’ll call Theresa and let her know we’re going to North Dakota. Maybe she can alert the local papers there, and someone can take our picture at the airport.”

  “Sounds good.” Eric stood slowly, stretching his arms high above his head. His tennis shirt lifted slightly, revealing a straight, dark line of hair running down from his belly button, disappearing into his jeans. Monica looked away, chastising herself for the small dart of heat that shot through her body. Jesus, you’d think you’d never seen a man’s torso before. This is your business partner, she reminded herself sternly. Relationship of convenience. All professional. No lust for the biggest womanizer on earth allowed.

  “Call me when you have the flight plans worked out,” she said, heading toward the door. She paused. “And thanks for asking how I was doing after my costar’s death.”

  Eric raised his clasped hands high, miming being a champion.

  “You’re a jerk, you know that?” Monica hissed.

  Eric just laughed.

  TEN

  “OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.”

  Eric pressed his lips together hard in an effort to cover his mortification over his mother’s first words to Monica. His mom was hopping from foot to foot, while his father stared at them bemusedly from behind his mother. Eric was glad Jason wasn’t here to witness it. He and Delilah had loosed their dogs the minute they arrived and were walking around the yard with them.

  “Mom, calm down, okay?” Eric asked patiently.

  “I’m trying,” his mother insisted, fluttering a hand in front of her chest. “It’s just—I’ve been a fan for so long.”

  “Mom.”

  “It’s okay,” Monica assured Eric, extending a soft, slim-fingered hand to Eric’s mother. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Mitchell.”