“I’m wondering if this will be the day your going to agree to let me come to the beautiful Black Hills to meet you in person. I’ve been doing some homework, and everything I’ve read about your area sounds like a place I want to visit. Dinosaurs? You have dinosaur bones in your town? For reel?”
Only one. His name was Seymour. Or, See-More, if you wanted to be crass.
“The mortuary people delivered my mom’s ashes yesterday. C.O.D.”
He’d included a sad face made up of a colon, dash and outfacing parenthesis. Her mind flashed to the cold, gray morning they'd lowered her sister-in-law’s casket into the ground.
“She didn’t leave any instructions about what to do with her remains. I don’t think she planned on ever dying. Or maybe she thought I’d keep her on a shelf with my Emmy.”
An Emmy? He has an Emmy? Was he trying to impress her? Maybe, but she didn’t think so. He wouldn’t bother if he knew how rarely watched television. She wasn’t too impressed with anything she’d seen recently – even his program.
“I’m rambling. Sorry. I’m not usually up this early, but I’ve started a new workout routine so I can hold up my part of the bargain where the mine is concerned. Is your brother starting to come around?”
She’d told him how unhappy Mac was about the idea of bringing a stranger into the mine. She’d even had her lawyer draw up a separate agreement stating the person she chose wouldn’t sue them if he got hurt on the job.
“Well, time to lift weights. I’m hoping to hear back from you. Tell me when to book my flight. Coop.”
Coop.
She closed her eyes and rocked back in her chair. Honesty was a trait she valued above all others. And if she were being honest now, she had to admit that this man sparked her interest in a way none of the other applicants had. She wasn't sure why. There was something very human about him. And she liked it that they had things in common. Not outwardly but deep down.
They were both alone – although she had a brother and a niece. Both orphans. Both had careers not of their choosing. She’d completely related to his story of his mother pressuring him to try out for roles. Her brother had been the one twisting Libby’s arm to apply for Gran’s job. “It has great benefits, Lib. And you’re a shoo-in.”
A shoo-in who'd had to compete with ten other applicants and suffer through three interviews. But she didn’t regret her decision. She loved her job. Most of the time.
She looked at the calendar. She could drag this process out forever. Or she could go with her gut.
Smiling, she hit the Wine, Women, and Words group email and typed: “Emergency meeting tonight. My house. Kids okay, Kat.”
An hour and a half later, as she poured iced tea into four glasses for the women sitting around her kitchen table. “I think I found the guy. We’ve been emailing. He interests me more than any of the other respondents.” Looking up, she added, “Why didn’t any of you warn me about spam?”
Nobody answered. They knew she was stalling.
“Yesterday was Mother’s Day. I know because I personally processed a couple thousand card-sized envelopes last week. It might be why I decided to act now rather than drag out this process. I’ve picked a candidate.”
A candidate whose first email had seemed to jump off the screen and into her lap.
I’m an orphan, too. My mother just died and I never knew my father.
Her heart had done a flip-flop that hadn’t occurred when she'd read any other inquiry – not even the one from a surgeon in Boston.
“So tell us about him,” Jenna said, wiping a hint of sweat from her upper lip. It was only the middle of May, but the Hills had been experiencing an unusually warm spring, and the six-block stretch between their homes was straight uphill.
“You may have heard of him. His name is Cooper Lindstrom. He’s an actor. I think.” Did hosting a talent competition on TV qualify as acting?
Her friends looked at each other for a heartbeat or two, then all started talking at once.
“The guy from that Close-Up show?” Jenna blurted out.
“He’s handsome. And famous,” Kat said.
“Never heard of him.”
The last was from Char. She often bragged that she didn’t own a television, but Libby knew she kept abreast of popular culture because every week Libby placed a People magazine in the woman’s mailbox.
Libby finished her task, then passed out the glasses and sat. “Apparently the show just concluded. I missed it. Not that I care about watching. When I did an Internet search, I found the official Cooper Lindstrom website and watched a couple of trailers.”
“Why would a famous guy do something like this? A publicity stunt?” Kat asked. She took a quick sip then got up from the table and walked to picture window to check on her sons, who were playing soccer in front of the house.
“The thought crossed my mind,” Libby confessed. “In fact, I figured this was some kind of joke and I deleted his first message. But he kept emailing me. Not really trying to get me to change my mind exactly, but…” She hesitated because what she was about to say sounded silly and presumptuous given the fact he was a celebrity and she was a nobody. “He sounded lonely. And a little lost.”
Jenna made a pffing sound that sounded just like her mother – a woman who tried everyone’s patience at times. “He’s a star. He has people for that.”
“His mom just passed away.”
Char snapped her fingers. “That Cooper Lindstrom. I read something about his mother. Came from a small town in North Dakota. Got hired by a studio but was seduced by some mogul on a casting couch. He was married, of course. Ruined her career, but she took the high road and wouldn’t tell anyone who her son’s father was. The implication was she used blackmail to get her son a few breaks along the way.”
Libby stared at her friend so intently Char blushed and threw up her hands. “What? I might have saved the article, if you want it.”
Kat tapped on the window, gave a thumbs-up to someone outside, then re-joined the group. “So, are you saying you feel sorry for him?”
“Of course not. He’s rich and famous. But I know how that kind of loss can make you reevaluate your life.”
“And you think that’s why he’s doing this?”
Kat always asked the tough questions.
“Why else?” Libby held up her hand and, starting with her pinkie, named the objections she’d raised with him via email. “I asked him if this was a publicity stunt. He said he’d come here with no press, no entourage. The only person he plans to tell is his best friend.”
Ring finger. “When I asked what part the mine played in his decision, he said, ‘A big one.’ His mother’s death really rocked him. The tabloids have been hounding him, and he sees the mine as a way to duck out of sight -- literally.”
Jenna’s jaw fell open. “You mean he actually plans to get dirty? Libby, my mother loves that stupid show so I am forced to watch it every week. Believe me, this guy doesn’t look as those he’s ever broken a sweat in his life. He’s too pretty.”
Libby had managed to catch a few clips on another site devoted, it seemed, to poking fun at televised talent shows. In all honesty, she’d thought the same thing, but it felt faintly disloyal to say so.
“Why risk life and limb on a hazardous job like mining when he’s rich? He is rich, right?”
Libby studied the beads of moisture on her glass. “I don’t know. When I asked him how important the money was, he was kinda evasive. He said his mother had been in charge of financial matters and he was still trying to sort out everything.” She looked at Jenna. “Didn’t you tell me you felt the same way when your dad passed away?”
Jenna nodded. “Dad was a control freak who never let Mom or me even peek at the checkbook. Fortunately, he was also very conservative, so once we put together all the pieces, we could breathe a little easier.” She frowned. “Although if the Mystery Spot doesn’t open on time, we might be in trouble.”
Libby didn’t know t
he nature of the latest crisis at the Murphys' summer business, but she knew better than to ask. “Then you know how he feels. Maybe his mother was good with money, too. But I got the impression that wasn’t the case.”
“So money is a factor,” Kat stated. “But it’s not like the mine is making money hand over fist. You and Mac wouldn’t be working second jobs if that were the case. Did you tell him that?”
“Not exactly.” Libby dropped her hand to her lap and sighed. “When I wrote the ad I thought I made it clear that this wasn’t a get-rich-quick scheme. I figured the words gold mine would attract a lot of attention, but anyone reading deeper would see that my offer was more about bragging rights than actual profit. I’m not sure Cooper took it that way.”
When no one said anything, she groaned and plopped her cheek on her hand. “I’m a liar and a fraud, aren’t I? And now I’ve convinced a television personality to move in and father my child.”
Kat reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Lib, you’re the most honest person I know. I think your disclaimer cam across as very frank and forthright. Only a person who couldn’t read would think he was going to get rich from this. Obviously this Cooper person can read, so it’s probably safe to assume he’s not doing this for the money.”
Libby sat up a little straighter. “He does seem like a really nice guy deep down. Maybe a little shallow on the surface, but that could be from growing up in L.A. I mean, he was making commercials at an age when Jenna and I were collecting pollywogs in Sentinel Creek. He didn’t exactly have a normal upbringing.”
Jenna seemed to consider the argument.
“Ever since book club, I’ve been thinking about the reason behind your decision to have a baby,” Kat said. “And despite how my life has turned out – the two divorces and everything – I can’t imagine not having my boys. They’re the best part of me. So, no matter how you go about this, my friend, I’m behind you.”
Libby sat up a little straighter, surprised by how good those words felt. “Really? You don’t think I’m crazy?”
Jenna laughed. “She didn’t say that, But I’m in your corner, too, pal. You know that, right?”
“Me three,” Char chimed in. “And if you think Cooper Lindstrom is the right one, then go for it. I bet only half a dozen people around here would even recognize him if they passed him on the street. And it’s not like he’s bringing Hollywierd with him.”
Libby smiled, but a shiver of uneasiness passed through her. When she’d first imagined this happening, she’d pictured the sperm donor as a sort of shadowy figure who hung around the cabin for a few days to make sure the woman who would be mother to his child was qualified for the job. She had no reason to believe Cooper Lindstrom had another agenda, but somehow she couldn’t picture him hiding out quietly in a tiny log cabin. He seemed too colorful and vital for that.
But maybe that was a good thing. A bored celebrity wouldn't be inclined to stay in Sentinel Pass for long – or even return for a visit. Cooper's home was in Malibu. The ocean, the glamour, the proximity to Hollywood all seemed to fit the persona projected on his website.
And that was fine with her. She liked her rustic little village just the way it was. Sentinel Pass had been a great place to grow up. Safe. Carefree. There were aspects of it that might seem a little confining to her at times, but as a single mom with a child to worry about, she wasn’t in any hurry to see it change.
Chapter 3
“How ‘bout Whose Sperm Is It?”
Shane’s eyes narrowed intently. “Let me make one point perfectly clear, Coop. I will never allow my name to be attached to any show that has the word sperm in the title.”
Shane was driving Cooper to LAX because Coop had insisted it would give them time to brainstorm about the Sentinel Pass project. He hadn’t mentioned the gesture also would save him the cost of a limo.
“I had no idea you were so sensitive. Do you like Honey, I’m Pregnant?”
“No. I thought you wanted this to last more than one season? A pregnancy is nine months. Once the kid is born, the title no longer applies.”
“Good point. How ‘bout--”
“Wait.” Shane held up his hand as he checked the rearview mirror, then stepped on the gas to shoot into the on-ramp. “Before you toss out another gem, let’s try to pin down the high concept behind the storyline. Because frankly, Coop, I’m having trouble seeing it. If it’s just about some woman trying to get pregnant, then count me out. I really don’t want to get sued.”
Cooper ignored the last comment. “Think of it as a fish-out-of-water story, only this fish brings his water with him.”
“Huh?”
“The gold-for-sperm thing is a fabulous hook, but the real story is what happens after the hero and heroine meet. And I’ve been thinking about who we could get to play the postmistress."
The black Hummer hesitated for a fraction of a second before weaving seamlessly into the traffic flow on the 405. “I could be wrong,” Shane said, focusing on his driving, “but I think I remember hearing that the word postmistress is archaic. Like a stewardess is now a flight attendant. A female who is the head of a post office is called a postmaster.”
“Really? Um…okay. If you say so. I need to be able to visualize an actress in the role. Who'd make a good postmaster? Kate Beckinsale? January Jones?”
“I’ve seen your postmaster’s photo, Coop. She’s nice-looking but hardly as beautiful as January or Kate."
“Her looks have grown on me. She reminds me of the actress who played the woman who went to jail for killing her husband and Tommy Lee Jones followed her—”
“Double Jeopardy? Ashley Judd is an A-list movie star. Give me someone we can afford.”
Cooper frowned. He’d been pondering on that very subject earlier in the day when his second ex had called – also unhappy because her pin money was late in coming. Thankfully, Morgana had her trust fund to fall back on. Not that that had kept her from going for blood in the divorce, but her established wealth had kept her from taking him to the proverbial cleaners.
“I hate to say it, but one person who might be perfect is my ex.”
“Which one?”
“Tiffany.”
“She’s gorgeous, too.”
“You haven’t seen her in the morning. She does ordinary very easily.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Shane drove more conservatively than Cooper liked, but for once, Cooper wasn’t running behind schedule. Usually when he flew, unhappy airline personnel were holding the plane door for him as he raced down the concourse. Shane, who didn’t like to be rushed, had insisted on picking him up an hour early.
“You like drama? Call a cab,” he’d said when Coop had complained that if he arrived too early, he’d be at the mercy of fans in the airport.
More important, although he hadn’t mentioned it, was the fact that an early departure meant leaving a couple of undone things. Like giving Rollie – the old guy who lived next door – everything edible left in his refrigerator. The man was eighty and at one time owned a couple of miles of prime Malibu real estate. But his trusting nature had made him a prime candidate for victimization. Coop watched over him as much as he could. Lena had called Coop a sap. Not for helping the old man but for not letting his publicist use the fact in press releases.
He’d called Daria, his twenty-four-year-old assistant, and asked her to check on Rollie when she came to collect the mail and feed his fish.
“Not a chance,” she’d said, her voice thick with sleep. Or drugs. Or both. She was a partier. “Old people give me the creeps.”
Maybe she considered Coop old. Maybe that was why she’d stopped flirting with him.
Or maybe she’d stopped flirting with him because he’d made it clear he had no desire to sleep with her.
Why don’t I want to sleep with her? He didn’t know the answer. And didn’t want to think about it.
“So who plays you?” Shane asked, drawing Coop’s attention back t
o the present.
“Me, of course. At least in the pilot. This is my idea, remember?”
“Actually, the idea came from the postmaster. It’s her life. You don’t think she’s going to be just a little bit upset when she figures out you’re only using her for the sake of a television show?”
“The Internet is public domain, man. I had lunch with Arthur yesterday and tried to pick his brain about the legality of this without really telling him anything. You know what a gossip he is.” He rolled his eyes and muttered, “Client privilege, my butt.”
“Arthur said you could do this without impunity?”
Cooper didn’t know the word, so he ignored the question. “We talked in hypotheticals. Hypothetically, if I spotted an interesting idea or concept that someone applied to their life and they made that idea public via the Internet, I – or anybody who was so inclined -- could take it and run. You can’t copyright ideas.”
“I know that, but you’re not the only person who knows about this. I’m assuming hundreds, if not thousands, of men have replied to her ad. That means that no matter how much we change this plot, the basic element – a woman trades a gold mine for sperm – is going to point to her.”
“So?”
“We’re talking about creating a comedy around a woman’s decision to have a child, Coop. A lot of people aren’t going to find that funny. In fact, if she goes public or tries to sue, your reputation could be toast.”
The thought had crossed his mind, but he hadn’t let it linger. “I hear you, but remember your high concept. This is my story now. What happened when a popular actor on the run from a nefarious loan shark answers a woman’s ad so he can hide out in the Black Hills of South Dakota?”
“So there isn’t a baby now?”
Questions. Coop hated winging answers. He was always terrified of saying something so completely wrong everyone would know he wasn’t too bright.
“There might be.” His need for some quick cash hadn’t changed. It would weeks before he and Shane saw any money from this project – if they could interest backers. It would be months before they saw any network money...if there was a pilot. “I don’t know, yet. But, if the show turns out to be as hot as I think it will and it makes boatloads of money, the postmaster,” he said pointedly, “will be able to send her kid to Harvard. What mother wouldn’t endure a little public ridicule for that?”
Black Hills Baby Page 3