Or maybe it’s not a nightmare. Now I could use that pain medicine. No, really. Not for the calming effects. Well, not just for the calming effects. I’m honestly in pain.
“Daddy?”
“There, see,” Mom says, triumphant. “I told you she’d wake up on her own.”
“How do you know it wasn’t me talking to her?” Dad fires back in unusual defiance. Good for him. “Hey there, honey bunny. How ya feeling?”
“Could you ask the nurse to bring me something for the pain?”
“You be careful with that stuff, Tabby. You remember what happened to Rush.”
Limbaugh. I swear. Mom is a crazed fan of Rush Limbaugh. I mean she lives by every word that proceeds from his mouth.
“Yeah, I should be so rich that I can afford enough drugs to get addicted,” I mouth off, knowing she’s not likely to get too mad when I’m lying here in pain, but I eke out a bit of a moan just to be on the safe side and foster some sympathy.
Dad comes to my rescue anyway. “Hush, Martha. You don’t want our daughter in pain, do you?”
But true to her nature, Mom’s not about to let a little something like me being in excruciating pain deter her from her principles. “Better a little pain now than rehab a year from now.” The last of the great philosophers. “If it can happen to Rush it can happen to anyone.”
Well, I suppose that’s the truth. But Rush obviously didn’t have a mother watching his every move. I send Daddy a silent plea. It’s not lost on Mom, who huffs.
Dad squeezes my hand. “I’ll buzz the nurse.”
“All right,” Mom says with that tone of hers. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Mom asks me, “Have your friends contacted your employer to let them know you’ll be out for a few days?”
I smirk. I’m blissfully feeling no pain—physically, emotionally, you name it. And that’s probably why I let it slip. “No, Mom. No need.”
Even Dad gives me a little frown. “What do you mean, bunny?”
Don’t you just love it when dads use terms of endearment for grown daughters? It’s like they can’t quite let go. I hope he always wants to take care of me. Whoa, this stuff is making me… Where was I? Oh yeah.
“Daddy, my sweet Daddy.” I smile and pat his round face. “I love you so much.”
“My goodness, Frank. She’s high as a kite.”
“Shh, Martha. Leave the girl alone for once.”
“Thank you, Daddy. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“You just told him three and a half seconds ago,” Mom shouts—or maybe not. Whoa, how much of that stuff did they shoot into my IV? I like it!
With that tender expression I know so well, Dad takes my hand, presses a kiss to my knuckles. “I love you too, baby girl. Now tell us what you mean about the job.”
“Oh, Frank.” I can hear a scowl in my mother’s tone, and even the pain-numbing narcotics don’t lessen the knot in my gut. Especially because I know Mom’s not happy with me. But then, is she ever? “Obviously, our daughter has gotten herself fired again.”
Dad’s look is one of question and concern. Unlike Mom who just wants to harp. “Is that it, Tabs? Did you lose your job?”
“It was the rabbit. The kids. It’s just not fair… know what I mean, Mom?”
“I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about. And neither do you. Did you quit your job?” Mom takes a deep breath like she knows she’s about to unload on me and wants to be sure she has enough air. Now! When I’m half dying from almost having my appendix explode like a grenade. “You have so much money all of a sudden that you can afford to lose a perfectly good job?”
“Gee whiz, Ma. I didn’t exactly walk up to my boss and ask her to humiliate me in a rabbit suit and then fire me just to put icing on the cake.” Okay, whoa, I’m flying a litt—lot.
The monitor next to me beeps a rising heart rate. This is what my mother does to me. Makes me nuts. My pulse goes through the roof. I swear, her presence is like an aerobic exercise, only without the muscle tone—and a lot more painful at times.
Mom’s eyes dart to the monitor, and she gives me a startled look like she’s just figured out that she makes me crazy.
“Martha. Go wait in the hallway.”
You tell her, Dad. Send her out of the room. Be gone, bad cop!
“Perhaps you’re right,” Mom says. She clears her throat and steps to my other side. “I’m sorry I’ve upset you, Tabby. Get well soon and call if you need anything.”
Bending, she kisses me on the forehead, straightens, looks down at me. I’m speechless. I honestly can’t remember the last time my mother showed me any kind of physical affection. That was always Daddy’s role in the family. I feel awful that I’ve thought “bad cop” about her. I’m just glad I didn’t say it out loud. Can you imagine? The drugs must be throwing off my defenses because I grab her hand with both of mine and hug it to my cheek for a second. “Thank you, Mom. I promise I won’t go into rehab like Rush. Unless I really, really need it.”
She pauses, then brushes my hair from my face. “I’ll be waiting in the hall for you, Frank.”
My heart goes out to her. This is an uncommon feeling, but something about having my mother caress my head gives me a change of heart. I’m going to try hard to get along with my mom (and possibly live a lot longer if that verse in the Bible about honoring one’s parents is to be taken literally). Maybe it’s time to stop lying about my true financial state. Stop insisting that I’m this close to a Broadway play and maybe tell the truth about why I really got killed off on Legacy of Life.
But not right now because I’m getting the business from my dad. So much for good cop.
“She loves you a lot more than you give her credit for, bunny.” Dad demands my gaze. “Now tell me about the job.”
By the time he leaves, he’s stuffed two one-hundred-dollar bills in my purse, despite my objections (very weak objections, I’m ashamed to say). I’m vaguely aware of his good-bye as the pain medicine finally gets the better of me and I can’t keep my eyes open a second longer.
The next time I awaken it’s to the sound of the phone chirping. “Hey,” I hear Laini say in a whispered kind of voice. “Yeah, I’m at the hospital, but she’s asleep. Oh, wait—she’s moving. Tabby, you awake?”
I nod.
“Oh good.” She comes to my bedside holding my cell phone. She sees my confusion and shrugs. “You left it at home the other night, and it was ringing like crazy all day. I think you’re going to want to take this call.”
“I think I read somewhere that you’re not supposed to have a cell phone in the hospital. It can interfere with the machines.”
“I’m going to go stand guard. Just make it quick. It’s your friend Freddie from Legacy of Life.”
I take the phone. “Freddie! I was just thinking about you. You won’t believe it, but there’s this male nurse here that looks just like you. Well, he doesn’t exactly look like you, but he acts like you and he has your smile. Do you have a brother you haven’t told me about?”
“Girl, what are you talking about?”
It’s so great to hear Freddie’s voice!
“Sorry. You know I ramble when I get excited.” I reach deep to take a full breath, and… Oh, ow. It hurts. I can’t buzz for pain meds until I’m ready to hide the phone. And besides, maybe I’d better take it easy on that stuff. Because… well, you know—Rush.
“So how come you called after all this time, Fred? Is everything okay?”
“First of all, the phone works two ways, chickadee.”
“You’re right.” We actually used to talk a lot, when I first left the show, but after I told him I became a Christian he backed off the friendship, hardly ever answers my calls, and never takes the initiative. But no sense in bringing that up. I know how it is.
“Tabby, girl.” He loses a bit of the queen attitude. “Guess who’s dying?”
A pain in my side alerts me that it’s past
time for more pain meds. Rush or no Rush. I groan. “Me.”
“Stop being so dramatic. It’s just a little appendicitis. People get it all the time. Focus, girlfriend. I have something important to tell you.”
At the excitement in his voice, I’m instantly awake. Freddie has this perpetual buzz about him. He’s always moving, always hyper. In the immortal words of Tom Hanks in You’ve Got Mail: Freddie makes coffee nervous.
And he doesn’t even drink coffee. He’s a purist. Freddie’s the fitness trainer on location for the cast of Legacy of Life. We hit it off from the moment he said, “Honey, those thighs aren’t going to stop jiggling on their own. Now I want to hear some grunting and see some sweat staining that three-hundred-dollar leotard or we’re going to have issues.”
“So who is dying, Freddie?”
“You have to guess.”
“I can’t. I’m in pain.” I’m whining. But that’s too bad.
He heaves a sigh. “Oh, all right. It’s Lucy Marshall.”
“Julie is killing off Lucy? Is she nuts?” Taylor Adams has been playing Lucy Marshall for the last fifteen years. She’s another fan favorite and is part of a super couple. I don’t see the fans standing for this one. I’m envisioning boycotts and mail bombs. You just don’t mess around with soap fans—they’ll eat you alive. And I have a feeling Julie Foster is about to be toast with a capital T.
“Julie’s fit to be tied along with everyone else. Taylor got a part in the next Brad Pitt film.” He snickered. “She thinks she’s going to be the next Angelina. They threatened to sue, but her contract is up in another month anyway.”
“What are they going to do?” Or the better question might be, why do I give a flip? I mean they put me out to pasture, sent me on a one-way mission to the planet unemployment, burned me in a fiery inferno of which I still feel the heat. But I can’t stand it. “Freddie! Spill it!”
“They’re bringing back an old favorite. Someone they killed off.”
“Who?”
“Guess.” Good grief, not this again. Fine I’ll play his little game.
“Anthony Drake.”
Villainous male character Anthony Drake has died at least three times and manages to come back each time they settle the contract disagreement. But Freddie cackles into the phone, and I know I’ve guessed wrong.
“Please. Drake? Not this time. After he asked for a two hundred percent raise during last contract negotiations? Who does he think he is, Deidre Hall? He’s dead and buried this time, baby. And good riddance.”
How does Freddie get all this juicy info?
“Who, then?”
“Du-uh! Who do you think?”
And suddenly, my heart starts racing. Because I think I know where he’s going. “Me? Freddie, are they planning to bring back Felicia Fontaine?”
“You got it, honey. And high time. Do you know ratings have been dropping like the Cubs’ chance to make the World Series since you got the ax?”
Yay! Yippee and hallelujah. “Freddie, are you sure?” Trying not to sound too excited here. And trying to keep my voice down so the nurses don’t confiscate my phone before I get the details.
“Honey, have you ever known me to be wrong?”
Nope, not one time. Freddie is a very responsible gossip. He always checks his facts before spreading rumors.
Still, I’ve been through a lot of disappointment lately and, out of habit, a horrible thought shocks through me. What if they want Felicia back, but don’t necessarily plan to hire me to play her again? “Are you sure they don’t plan to recast the role?”
“They wouldn’t dare.” His assurance is immediate and forceful. “They need ratings with Taylor jumping ship. Bringing in another woman who is supposed to be you will backfire and they know it. After all, there is only one Tabitha Brockman.”
“They could say Felicia had plastic surgery.”
“Oh, please. Do you really think they’re going to resort to that old standby? Squeeze, honey. That butt’s not going to tighten itself.”
“What?” How does he know about those extra twenty pounds?
“I’m having a session with Julie.” He drops his volume. “She’s put on at least ten pounds since she married Trey. I swear I’m going to have to start hiding the morning Krispy Kremes.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “Hold on, hot dog. What do you mean? Julie and Trey are married?” Trey O’Dell—the guy who plays my on-screen husband, Rudolph.
“Oh, sure. You didn’t know that?”
Obviously not.
“What about Trey’s wife?”
“He left her for Julie.”
And she had the audacity to call me a home wrecker (only she didn’t use such a nice word to describe me). “Holy cannoli.”
“You got that right, baby.” He chuckles into the phone. “Julie has her issues, but you have to admit she’s a great writer.”
Nod. Nod. Grudging agreement. Still . . .
“How is she going to feel about me coming back and working with her husband after what went on before?”
“I don’t know, but it was Trey’s idea to bring Felicia back. Julie had to get the story line approved, so obviously she’s convinced Jerry she’ll be okay with it.”
Trey’s idea, huh? Then maybe he’s forgiven me for punching him in the jaw and throwing a full glass of red wine in his face. And for ruining his new silk button-down shirt. Which he had tackily confided cost him four hundred dollars. The guy is a great actor, but he’s all hands.
“Between you and me,” Freddie says, bringing me back to the present. “I think Trey knows you’re the only way to save his job.”
“Me?”
“Fans love you. They love the sizzling romance between you and Rudolph. It’s a love that will forever be true. And not even a fiery inferno could separate you.”
Freddie sounds absolutely swoony, so I feel the need to put a little reality on the topic. “Rudolph has been in at least three relationships since Felicia was killed,” I point out, a little miffed actually at my TV husband’s fickle heart.
“But none of those imposters were his true love. The fans haven’t tuned in for a story line between him and another woman. So it’s either spice up his character again by bringing you back or write him out of the show. Anyway, I heard Jerry telling his assistant to find your contact information. Anita Madison canned you, didn’t she?”
“No. Legacy of Life canned me,” I say, a little offended. “Anita merely dropped me from her client list after Jerry let me go.”
“Oh, I see the difference. Not.” Some sensitive guy Freddie is! “Anyway, you know, Julie is her best friend and you had that affair with Julie’s husband…”
“I did not!”
“Sure, whatever. Anyway.”
“What do you mean, Julie and Anita are best friends?” That’s news to me.
“How else do you think that you, an unknown, got that walk-on role in the first place? Julie talked Jerry into it as a favor to Anita.”
Jerry Gardner is the executive producer of the show and the only decent one of the white-collar set if you ask me.
“Anyway, Freddie. The fact is that Anita doesn’t represent me anymore, so how are they going to contact me without finding out I already know they’re looking? I can’t call them, it’ll ruin negotiations.”
“Don’t panic, honey,” Freddie says. “I’ve got that all worked out for you. Kyle Preston is expecting your call.”
“Kyle Preston.” My heart flutters. Everyone’s dream agent. A hotshot negotiator with a face that makes Brad Pitt look like the elephant man. “How do you know him?”
“I train him, and it just so happens that today was his upper body day. I somehow let the rumor slip about Jerry wanting to bring Felicia back to the show. And how Anita dumped you like day-old coffee grounds after they killed you off.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“And he said he’d be interested in hearing from you.” By the lilt in his voice, it’s pretty
obvious Freddie knows he’s done a good thing. No. Not just a good thing. A great thing.
“Thank you so much. Give me the number.”
“What are you going to do for me if I give you the number?”
“Now, Freddie!” Freddie always likes to play this game. Usually, I just laugh it off, but this time… hey, I have a lot at stake. “Or I’m writing your number on the ladies’ room wall at the nearest truck stop.”
“Sheesh! Looks like you lost your sense of humor when you lost your job. Or did that happen when you went all Christian on me?”
For some reason my face goes hot. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my relationship with Christ. It’s really not. It’s just that Freddie makes fun of all the Christians on the set. I used to laugh at his antics, but now… “Freddie! Give me the number or I’ll find another trainer to help me lose these twenty pounds.”
“Twenty! Oh brother. Girl, what have you been eating?”
“Never mind about that.”
He gives me the number and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Meet me at the old Bally’s on Fiftieth tomorrow at one.”
“Are you trying to kill me? I just had my appendix out.”
“Good grief. What a baby. Fine. Call me when you’re ready.”
“I will.”
“So, you still on that Christian kick?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm. I guess I’ll have to deal with it.”
I can’t help but smile. Who knows? Maybe God will use me in Freddie’s life.
Just then Laini gives me the slash across the throat motion and points toward the hall.
“Gotta go, Freddie. The nurse is coming.”
I disconnect and bury my phone under the covers just as the nurse steps into the room.
It rings almost immediately. I look up, guilt-ridden, but keeping my eyes widely innocent. “Hello, nurse. How are you today? I don’t think we’ve met. My name is Tabby.” I stretch out my hand, then grimace at the pull in my abdomen. “Ouch.”
“Take it easy,” the nurse says. “And you might want to answer your phone.”
“Phone?” I lay my hand over the hard lump beneath the paper-thin blanket. “Why would I have a phone when it’s clearly against the rules?”
Catch a Rising Star Page 4