It takes a second for her words to sink in. Then I realize what she’s saying. “They didn’t make you a full-fledged editor?” This is outrageous. “They’re nuts!”
Laini frowns. “Who got it? Not Fran?”
“No, thank God. You wouldn’t be Tabby’s only unemployed friend if they’d given it to Fran.”
“If not Fran, then who? I thought she was the only other person in the office going for it.”
“She was.”
“Well then?” This is starting to feel like Who’s on First.
Dancy shrugs. “Some jerk coming over from the London office. Jack Quinn.”
“Do you know him?”
She shakes her head. “No. But I will since I’ll be his assistant.” Tears travel down her cheeks.
“What? Dancy?” I grab her arm because she looks like she might croak.
She points. I turn and my stomach rolls. Brian is sitting at a nearby table with an older couple. I’m about to duck when he notices me and grins widely. I swear, I should have known better than to bring my friends to Brian’s favorite restaurant. But who knew he’d be coming here tonight? He has to save for three months to afford a meal at such an expensive restaurant.
I’m just about to excuse myself and head to the bathroom when the smartly dressed woman he’s with slides out of her seat, motions him to follow, and makes a beeline for me. I slide my gaze over her and realize this must be Brian’s mom. She owns her own little vintage boutique on Horatio Street, near Eighth Avenue. Brian says she actually serves champagne to her customers while they browse.
I paste on a smile as she approaches, with Brian following at her heels like a lapdog.
“You’re Felicia,” she says, completely ignoring my two friends. “I mean Tabitha Brockman.” Her eyes are bright, voice breathless, and I have to wonder if she’s been drinking a bit too much wine. “I can’t believe my little boy is dating Tabitha Brockman.” She turns abruptly to Brian. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Oh brother. Before he has a chance to introduce me as his girlfriend, I reach out my hand. She latches on and pumps my arm like she’s trying to make me fly. “It’s just wonderful to meet you. Can I have your autograph?”
“Mother,” Brian says, protesting but obviously pleased with himself. “I’m sure Tabby and her friends want to be left alone.”
“Oh, well, what’s it going to hurt for her to scratch her name across a napkin?”
Or more to the point, why would anyone ask me to? Still, this is my first instance of intrusion since I’ve been back on the show, and the woman is obviously a huge fan.
“It’s all right. I don’t mind.” I take the napkin and pen, spirits momentarily lifted.
“I’m so glad they brought Felicia back.” Now I recognize the brightness of her eyes for what it is. This woman’s actually about to cry.
“Rudolph has been so unhappy. He’s just never found anyone else who completes him the way you do.”
Oh boy. Security? Is it just me, or is my stalker’s mother now acting suspiciously like a stalker herself? What if this is a family of crazies? And my mother wants me to marry Brian and raise a bunch of little stalker kids?
“Well, thank you for your support. I’ll be sure to pass along your comments to our producer.”
“You will?” She takes the proffered pen and signed napkin and clutches them to her ample bosom.
“Sure she will,” Dancy pipes in. “Well, are we about finished here?” She looks up at Brian’s mom, who can’t seem to tear herself away. “Tabitha needs her beauty rest. She has an early call in the morning.”
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry.” The woman’s face turns bright red and she backs away like I’m the queen or something. “I’d love to see you come into my boutique,” she says. “I’ll give you half off anything in the store, if you’ll mention the shop in one of your interviews.”
“That’s very generous of you. I’ll speak to my publicist about it.” I stand and turn and my gaze falls on Brian. “Well, you two enjoy the rest of your meal.”
“I didn’t know you had a publicist,” Laini whispers as we walk away.
I send her a wink. “I don’t.”
We laugh together, but inside I’m fighting a knot in the pit of my stomach. Today must be my day for disappointments in the man department. First the gorgeous guy with two kids. Then the guy I’d love to get away from, not only won’t he leave me alone, but now I’ve apparently passed muster with his mom. Aren’t I lucky?
8
Right now I’d give my right arm for a man to do the heavy lifting. Laini is diving right in to her newly rediscovered love of decorating and is going crazy with our apartment. At the moment we are lugging an enormously heavy oak wardrobe up the stairs. She insisted we need it for our bedroom and talked me into shelling out big bucks for it. Wish she’d have talked me into paying for the delivery!
But I have to admit she has a good eye for furniture. I just wish she had bigger muscles.
Dancy groans under the weight of the huge box. “Please, can’t we just set it down for a second?”
“Okay,” I say. “Good idea. On three. One, two, three.”
We all breathe audible sighs once we’re relieved of the weight. “Note to you, Laini,” Dancy says, still huffing. “Next time you want to bring home a couch or appliance or anything over fifty pounds, bring home a sexy, muscly man to go with it.”
Laini grins. “Believe me. I wish I knew one.”
“Don’t we all.”
“I know some,” I say in a nongloating way. “But none of them want me.”
“Brian does,” Laini says with a laugh.
“Oh please. Don’t give me a nervous breakdown.”
“We’re pathetic,” Dancy says. “We’re going to be living together when we’re eighty.”
“Well, I can think of worse company,” I say entirely from my heart. “But I’m not giving up. Let’s have a party.”
Dancy gasps. Something Dancy rarely does, so Laini and I are immediately intrigued. “Let’s have an unveiling Felicia Fontaine party.”
“What? That’s not what I meant.” Although the idea does have merit. Actually . . .
Laini adds an enthusiastic, “That’s a great idea! When’s the unveiling, Tabs?”
“Um. I’m still wearing gauze, and we tape about three weeks in advance, so it’ll be at least a month. Is that too far away?”
“That’s perfect,” Laini says. “We’ll have plenty of time to prepare the guest list and decide on a menu. It can be a New Year’s Eve–slash–Felicia unveiling party! What do you say?”
We’re all very into the idea of killing two birds with one stone.
“In the meantime, let’s get this thing up the stairs so I can soak in an aromatherapy bath,” Dancy groans. “I’m going to need it.”
We’re close enough to our apartment at the top of the stairs that when the door buzzes, we can hear it.
We all look down and can see through the glass door that… Brian is standing there, nose to the glass looking in.
I can’t believe it.
“Weasel boy,” Dancy says, bitterness edging her voice. “Do you want to buzz him in?”
“Of course she doesn’t,” Laini says.
“Hey, wait a minute, guys. If we let him in, he can help us carry the wardrobe inside.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Dancy reaches for me and misses. “Grab her, Laini!”
“Tabby! If you let him in, he’s going to think you want to date him.” Those words from Laini are enough to accomplish what a full body block failed to do. I stop and stare down at him. He’s just standing there like a puppy in a window, waiting to be noticed. My heart sort of goes out to him. And he does have man muscles that we desperately need. So, in a moment of weakness, I do what I know I shouldn’t do. I step inside the apartment and buzz the guy in.
I mean, maybe it’s a sign that he’s supposed to help, since he showed up right when we needed some muscle power.
&n
bsp; A sign, my foot,” Dancy nearly explodes later that night after Brian helps us get the wardrobe settled, eats us out of house and home, and finally takes the hint we’d like him to leave when Dancy gives a great big yawn and says, “Brian, you must be exhausted after all that moving. I know I’m ready to hit the sack.” I let Brian out, deflect a lip-lock, and kiss his cheek in farewell. A harmless “thank you.”
But Dancy doesn’t see it that way. She’s livid. “I can’t believe you kissed that guy!”
“It was more of a peck on the cheek than a kiss. You make it sound like we made out.”
“When you don’t even like a guy, you shouldn’t lead him on just to save you the trouble of moving furniture.”
Okay, her high and mighty attitude is beginning to tick me off a little. I mean, come on. I fed him, let him watch my TV, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. I don’t think I promised forever.
“Why do you care anyway? Do you have a thing for Brian now? Because I’d be happy to have you take him off my hands.”
She scowls at me. “Do whatever you want. But don’t come crying to me when you can’t get rid of him.”
She stomps off and slams her bedroom door. I press my palm against my aching forehead. I hate fighting with my friends. It just feels wrong. I mean, it’s inevitable when three women share an apartment. There will be tension no matter how close we are, how much we care for each other. Sometimes, we have to each go to our corners and catch our breath, tend the wounds, and come back, ready to tap gloves and make it about friendship once again.
In my corner, I switch on the TV and flip through the channels. The sound of “Did you ever know that you’re my hero?” stops the surfing. Beaches? How can I stay mad at my friend when Barbara Hershey is dying of heart disease and her best friend Bette Midler is nursing her? Sort of. Darn it. I can’t let Dancy go to bed mad. What if she wakes up in the night with heart disease or is abducted by aliens (and who has proof there aren’t any)?
Shoving up from the couch, I pad down the hall to Dancy’s room and tap on the door. “Dan?”
“Just a minute.”
But it’s too late; I’ve already opened the door. She’s wiping her eyes. “Oh, Dancy. I’m sorry.”
She straightens her shoulders. “No. I should mind my own business. You have a right to kiss anyone you want to.”
Okay, I was not kissing! But that little reminder wouldn’t bode well for this particular situation whereby we are making up. So I let it go. “You’re just being a good friend and looking out for me.”
She hesitates. And we start to laugh. “Okay, so that’s that. Fight number eight million, six hundred nine thousand and two is officially over. Right?”
I smile. “Right.” I flop down at the foot of her bed. “So, how was work today?” See how we do that? Just clear the air and pick right up. The key to really great friendship is never holding a grudge. That and lots of chocolate. And the fact that we both—along with Laini—love Billie Holiday and Karen Carpenter.
“Horrible. Jack came in. ‘Just to get a bit of a peek at the office.’” She does air quotes and gives a really bad Hugh Grant imitation. She rolls her eyes. “Which means I had to do the whole song and dance while he was there and pretend I’m honored to be working for him.”
“Maybe he won’t be any good and they’ll fire him,” I offer, hoping it helps.
She throws me a patronizing smile. “Sure, maybe. An award-winning editor isn’t going to be any good at his job.”
“It was a thought.”
“I know. Too bad it’s not true. They could fire him and hire me.”
“Which they should have done in the first place.”
“I guess.”
I can tell Dancy’s not in the mood to talk. She’s not usually a deep talker anyway. And now, she keeps glancing at her laptop, which has booted up as we’ve been chatting.
“Going to do some work?”
She nods. “The new Tad Goodman mystery. I swear I don’t know how he ever got published. His manuscripts come in so cluttered. He’s wordy, uses poor grammar, bad sentence structure, predictable plots. This one is going to take a complete rewrite and he’s going to throw a fit and we’ll probably have to hire a ghostwriter to do it because my boss is such a wuss he refuses to let Tad go but he knows we can’t publish the books the way they come to us.”
Her long face is my cue. “Well, I’ll leave you alone so you can work.”
Dancy gives me a nod and turns to her laptop. “Thanks for coming in here. I don’t like it when we fight.”
“Me either.”
She smiles. I smile back. And that’s that.
Good grief, Tabitha. Play off the other actors. You’re acting like you’re the only person in the scene.”
Blythe has been hollering at me all day. I know my head isn’t in the scene. I keep wondering where David is today. But why does this director have to be so uptight? She’s great, but such a sergeant major.
“Sorry, Blythe. I’m trying.” A very humble response. I’m proud of myself.
“Well, try harder,” she snaps back. “Stop being such a diva.”
Diva? Okay, if she’s going to be insulting.
“Places, please. And… action.”
Felicia: “You’re my sister?”
Concentrate, Tabby. The woman has just revealed she’s your sister. Show some emotion. I force myself to tear up. No easy feat.
Nurse: “Yes. And I can’t believe you’ve been here the whole time, and I never knew it was you under the wrappings.” (Gag me now!) “Mother will be so happy.”
Felicia (I lay my hand on the nurse’s arm in an attempt to play off the other actress, as directed): “But I can’t remember any of you. Maybe it would be better to wait for me to meet her. I don’t want to disappoint her.”
Nurse (Covers my hand with hers. Oh, that’s good! This girl is great—a totally different sister than I had before. The last one was fired after showing up drunk three days in a row, I understand, per Freddie’s gossip chain): “Sweetie, you’ll soon find out that our family sticks together through thick and thin. Mom will want to baby you and take care of you while you recover, whether you regain your memory or not.” (She gives a slight laugh.) “Trust me. You’ll be in good hands.”
Felicia: “I just… but what about my face? The doctor said I’ll have at least six months of surgeries before I look like myself again. I-I don’t know if I want anyone to see how hideous I am.” (Julie wrote “what a monster I am” but I changed it.)
Nurse: “You’re hardly a monster, Felicia.”
“Cut! For crying out loud will you two please play the scene together?” Blythe glares at me. “Say the right line so you don’t throw anyone off.”
“Fine,” I mumble. I guess “monster” it is so that Miss I-can’t-improvise doesn’t get thrown for a loop.
“Action!”
Yada yada.
Monster . . .
Nurse: “You’re hardly a monster, Felicia. Although you are a little heavier than you used to be.”
What? I never saw that in the script. I’ll kill Julie Foster. . . .
“Cut!” Oh. Did I just say that?
“Excuse me; did someone hire you to take my job without telling me?” Blythe glares at me and walks to the set. “What’s your problem?”
“Did you hear what she just said about me being heavier than I used to be?”
“Yeah, so?”
“What sister is going to say that to a woman who feels like a monster with all of her scars?”
Blythe takes a breath like she’s going to blow a gasket at me, then a reflective frown creases her brow. She turns to June Wright, the actress playing my nurse/sister. “She’s right. Lose the line.”
“Not until you take it up with Julie,” June says, giving her a haughty sneer.
Blythe’s eyes narrow, and she steps all five feet of her pudgy body into Miss Nurse’s personal space. “You’re going to do as you’re told.”
June b
acks down as quickly as she attempted to stand up to the little director. “Fine.”
“Good.” I swear Blythe is part bear. She literally growls on the way back to her spot. “Don’t make me do another take, you two.”
“Action!”
Yada, yada—no weight gain line.
Nurse: “Besides, we don’t love you for your outward beauty. We love you for the good person you are inside. That goodness shines from your beautiful eyes, and no one will even notice your scars.”
I allow tears to well up once more and press a kiss to the back of her hand. (Incredible acting, I must say.)
Felicia: “Thank you for that.” (My voice is barely a whisper.)
Nurse: “You’ll let Mom come see you, then?”
I nod.
Felicia: “But only her.”
Rudolph enters.
Rudolph: “What about me? Don’t you want to see your husband?”
“And, cut! That’s a wrap. Go home everyone,” Blythe hollers. “Way to go, ladies.”
I smile at June. “You’re really good.”
She looks down at me with haughty disdain. “Warn me next time you plan to kiss me. Got it?”
“Uh. Sure. Sorry.” Talk about a diva!
A stagehand comes to my aid, helping me remove the tubing and wires from my body.
“Wait, Tabitha and Trey. Stay here. I want to go ahead and film the next scene between you two. You have your pages memorized, right?”
“Right,” I say. Mostly.
With a weary sigh I lie back in the bed and the stagehand reconnects all my wires. My face is unwrapped and full of fake scars. It’s quite humbling to see myself like this. I’ve been totally dreading this coming scene with Rudolph. He has to kiss me before he realizes I have no memory of him. Apparently, none of his friends have bothered to disclose Felicia’s unfortunate case of amnesia.
Laini and Dancy are both on the set today. They’ve come to watch the first scene where Rudolph sees Felicia. Looks like they’re not going to be disappointed. I send them both an apologetic shrug. Dancy grins. She’s in pure heaven being on the set of her favorite soap. Just wait until I tell her what June Wright, Felicia’s so-called sister, said to me. Hateful broad!
Catch a Rising Star Page 9