“Quiet,” Blythe calls, and the set immediately hushes.
Trey is at my bedside, ready to lay it on thick.
“Action!”
Rudolph: “Darling, my beauty. I can’t believe it’s really you.”
He moves in for a kiss. Ugh. Coffee breath. And unless I miss my guess, he ate seafood and garlic for lunch. Someone get this guy a tube of Mentos. Please. Thankfully, the kiss is short and he pulls me into his chest, and I feel… oh my gosh I feel nauseated. Because yes, on top of the bad breath, Trey has a case of B.O. How can a semi-hot soap star be so hygienically challenged?
He caresses the back of my head as he smothers me to him, then pulls away, keeping his hands on my upper arms.
Rudolph: “I can’t believe it’s really you.” (Uh, didn’t he already say that?) “You’re as beautiful as the day we met.” (Okay, even on a good day, that’s a bad line. And not the greatest acting.)
Felicia (Oh no! I feel a laugh coming on): “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are.”
“Cut! Tabitha. Can we please do the scene without you laughing?”
“I’m sorry, Blythe. I’m okay now. The—um—wire was tickling me.”
“Well, move the wire so that it doesn’t tickle you and let’s get this scene wrapped up.”
“Okay. Will do.” I fiddle with a bit of tubing. “Ready.”
“Action.”
Rudolph: “Darling…” yada yada.
Kiss kiss. Big whiff of sweaty male. Ew.
Felicia (Oh, Jesus, help me. Trey has a toupee. I had no idea!): “I don’t know you.”
I’m cracking up and so are the spectators on the set.
“Cut! Tabby! For the love of Pete. What is wrong with you? Now, listen here. Stop that laughing. When you look at Trey, I want to see love in your eyes this time. Capiche?”
“But I don’t even remember him,” I fire back. “No one’s going to believe it if I look at him with love in my eyes.” If only they had to inhale what I’m enduring over here. Dare I ask for some strong air freshener? A Yankee candle maybe?
“Your soul remembers him. Rudolph is the one and only for Felicia. Her memory is gone, but her heart knows him. And I want to see that heart in her eyes. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Blythe. I’m sure I’ll get it right this time.”
“What’s a matter, Tabby?” Trey asks in a slightly taunting tone for my ears only. “Did you forget how to act?”
“Did you ever know how?” I hiss back. Not nice. And completely immature. But he’s always gotten on my nerves, and even more so now that he’s married to the head writer.
“Action!” Blythe yells in a tone that says, “You’d better not make me say ‘action’ again for this scene.”
Rudolph: Yada yada.
Felicia: “But I don’t remember you.”
I see movement and for some reason I lift my eyes straight ahead to the set—and I take a sharp breath. I can’t help myself. I haven’t seen David Gray since the day his rug rats assaulted me. He’s standing there watching me. Oh, he smiled. It’s all I can do not to smile back.
“Cut.” Oh shoot. “Tabby. That’s perfect. That’s the look.”
Oh. My. Gosh. I’m still staring at David, except his smile is gone—replaced by a sort of questioning frown.
“Okay, we’re going to do it again,” Blythe calls out. “Only look at Trey this time when you give that look. Here we go. Action.”
I don’t know how I make it through the scene, but Blythe seems happy with it.
Laini and Dancy rush me the second I step out of the dressing room looking like me again. “That was fabulous, Tabs,” Laini gushes. “I had no idea you’re such a great actress.”
I won’t even state the obvious that if she watched the show, she’d be aware of my brilliance on a daily basis.
“Okay, I want to talk about that look you gave the stage dad.” Dancy, of course.
“How do you know who he is?”
“So you aren’t denying it?”
Darn. She got me.
Laini pipes up. “We saw the kids. Besides, he introduced himself. So, what’s with the look?”
So they’re both going to hound me for answers.
“I don’t even know the man. He distracted me, that’s all.” I scan the remaining faces. My stomach drops as a high-pitched squeal breaks the sound barrier inside the studio. “David!” My jaw goes slack and my gut clenches as a skinny blond flies into his arms.
“Is that who I think it is?” Dancy asks.
“Yeah,” I reply, not entirely able to mask the disappointment running through me. I mean, what gives Rachel Savage the right to waltz in here just when I’m making a connection with a guy and jump him like she’s married to him or something?
Just as I’m about to turn away and slip outside, I catch a glimpse of the twins running toward their dad and Rachel. “Kids!” she says, stooping with her arms wide as they both dive in for an embrace, nearly knocking her off her four-inch stilettos.
“That would have been priceless,” Laini whispers.
I grin and nod, envisioning Rachel landing flat on her behind. But you know, some people just don’t end up a laughingstock and some do. And that’s the difference between Rachel and me. I’d be picking myself up off the floor right now, while she, on the other hand, is beautiful and confident, exuding maternal warmth and looking very much like the completion of David’s little family.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, unable to spend one more second watching the scene playing out in front of me.
But we don’t even get two feet before Rachel calls from across the room. “Aren’t you going to say hello, Tabby?”
I stop. Feel the challenge, baby.
“Don’t let her get to you,” Dancy says under her breath, and I’m gratified to know I’m not the only person who caught that tone.
I paste a smile on and raise my eyebrows at Laini to ask if it’s good enough.
“Perfect,” she says. “No one would ever guess you want to deck her.”
I turn and face Rachel, who is flanked on either side by my TV children.
“Hi, Rachel,” I say with forced gaiety. “Welcome aboard. I hope you’ll feel right at home.”
Rachel’s smile broadens, and she hugs each twin against her. “I already do.”
“Good.” I smile down at the kids, who have kept their distance from me ever since the mummy incident. “I guess I’ll be seeing you two soon in our scenes.”
They duck into Rachel’s hips. Kids. Why? That’s all I can think of. Why?
David steps up, and I feel the heat scorch my cheeks at the memory of “the look of love.”
“Well, we’d better go,” I say before he can even open his mouth.
“We’re just leaving too,” he says in a sexy, husky voice that I swear I’d think was put on if he was an actor instead of a computer geek.
“Why don’t we all walk out together?” Rachel suggests, her smile wide, but her eyes narrow. Oh, is the size two best bod winner feeling a little threatened?
“Great idea.” I give her a semi-sweet smile. “I always feel a little odd waiting for a cab after dark.”
“Want a lift home?” David asks.
“Oh no. That’s not necessary.” Dancy jabs me in the ribs with her elbow. But I’m not backing down. I have no intention of letting him think I was hinting. Or more to the point, letting Rachel suspect it.
“Well, we’ll at least wait until you can get a cab.”
See, he’s very thoughtful. Perfect boyfriend material. Unlike Brian, who is just annoying—especially since I let him come in and help me with the wardrobe. (Which is big and not exactly right for the apartment.)
We walk outside and a camera flashes.
Rachel huffs. “Goodness, I can’t go anywhere these days without photographers hounding me.”
“You could always wear a wig and dark glasses,” Laini drawls, and Dancy snickers, leaving me to keep my composure.
“Give us a smile, Tabby!” the photographers call out. I could kiss every single lens-stuffed face for making this about me instead of Rachel.
I wave and smile, giving my sexy, one hip forward, skinny pose.
“Thanks, Tabby!”
“Anytime.”
“Miss Savage, can you give us a smile?”
“Why, sure, fellas.” The words are like smooth butter gliding from her lips. She’s going to make the most of this moment.
My heart is just sinking when I feel a shove from behind, knocking me into Rachel.
“Oops,” Dancy says. “Sorry. I stumbled.” Oh! She so did not!
The photographers chuckle, and I can only imagine the kind of shot they got.
“All right, guys,” I call out. “Play nice. You know what that’s going to look like. I got shoved into Rachel.”
“Sorry,” James Iams (like the dog food) says, putting away his camera. “That photo is going to sell for a lot.”
Jerk. I can’t believe I gave that guy my sexy pose.
Rachel gives a half laugh and waves. “It’s all right, boys. Just make sure it’s clear I was the one assaulted by Tabitha and not the other way around.”
“Hey!” I speak up in a knee-jerk reaction. “You know I didn’t do that on purpose.”
“It’s true,” Dancy says. “I bumped her.”
“And I bumped Rachel after my friend bumped me.”
Rachel gives an exaggerated wave. “We believe them, don’t we, boys?” Her giggle puts the last nail in my proverbial coffin. I can just see tomorrow’s soap mag headline… it’ll be Lindsay Lohan and Hillary Duff all over again.
God, will you cover your ears just for a second?
I hate her, hate her, hate her!
Okay, God. You can uncover them now.
God bless Rachel Savage.
9
With Dad on a diet, Mom has suddenly become Nurse Martha and is making sure he sticks to things. Therefore, Christmas dinner was a meager affair with turkey breast, no ham… potatoes mashed with chicken broth (who came up with that idea?) and sugar-free pie—which wasn’t too bad, but definitely not what I was expecting. All in all, a disappointing day as far as food goes, but Shelly is feeling better and is starting to glow a little. Mike brought his weird girlfriend again. Funny thing is, I think she’s starting to grow on Mom a little. At least she helped with dishes. And those are always points in anyone’s favor. If one needs the points. And Joy does.
I make it home by ten Christmas night. I don’t really expect Laini or Dancy to be there—I figure they’ll stay the night in their childhood bedrooms. Which is where I would have stayed if my stomach hadn’t been growling so loudly. But to my surprise and delight, they’ve both beaten me back to the apartment.
They’re debriefing in the kitchen around leftovers they brought from their respective mothers. I find it difficult to hide my enthusiasm. “Glory be, turkey and ham!” I two-finger grab a slice of baked ham. I don’t care which of my friends brought it home. All I know is that I’m starving and this is heaven.
“Hey,” Dancy says, “where’s your leftovers?” Traditionally we eat for a week on the food we bring home from holidays. And my mom sends the most and the best. Since we are going to be a few containers short this year, it looks like we’ll be eating for only a day or two. Possibly less. Oh man, that’s good ham. Yes, I’ll definitely be eating for a while here.
“Sorry,” I say with my mouth full, but too hungry to care about my appalling lack of table manners. “Dad’s on a diet. Mom didn’t make much, and what she did make tasted diet—trust me, you wouldn’t have wanted it.”
“Oh my goodness. You poor thing.” Laini springs into action and starts piling up my plate. Keep it coming, girlfriend. A fat homemade yeast dinner roll finds its way to my plate. Real mashed potatoes and giblet gravy. Rice dressing, regular dressing, green beans (okay, I’ll eat a few, but who wants to waste precious stomach room on vegetables when there’s four different kinds of pie for dessert?). Yams, which I actually don’t like all that well, but always eat a little since it’s tradition. And to top it all off, a wonderful seven-layer salad with real bacon bits and sugar.
I eat and eat as the girls talk around me. Laini chickened out about coming clean with her mom about learning interior design because three of her aunts were there asking financial questions and gushing over her wonderful accounting abilities. Grandma obviously has a thing for Legacy of Life because she kept grilling Laini about me. Her mom was weepy all day as she has been for the last three Christmases since Laini’s dad passed on. I think it’s an attention getter, personally, but I wouldn’t say that to my friend. Anyway, the aunts are why Laini didn’t stick around. Two of them are sharing her old room, and she would have had to either sleep on the floor in the living room or with her mom, and neither seemed like a good choice.
Laini sighs and grabs a fork and dives into a slice of pecan pie.
“He was a jerk when we were kids,” Dancy is saying of the guy her mom is perpetually trying to fix her up with. “And he’s an even bigger jerk now. When is my mother going to get it through her head that I am not Bridget Jones, and that Floyd Bartell is definitely no Colin Firth? There is no possibility of a love connection. The man is an absolute troll every day of the week.”
“Even on Christmas?” I quip. “Seems like he could take a day off once a year.”
Laini giggles.
Dancy isn’t amused. “No. On Christmas he turns into an evil elf—the kind that smashes all the doll heads after he puts them on the doll bodies. Do you know I once caught him looking in my window trying to catch a peek?”
In my mind’s eye, I picture a sixteen-year-old pervert. Suddenly I see her point. “Ew. How old were you?”
“We were both eleven. Isn’t that revolting?”
I snicker. Laini snickers. And then the two of us are laughing so hard, tears are streaming down our cheeks.
“Oh sure. Laugh. But you wouldn’t think it was funny if you were the victim of some peeping Tom.”
“Oh, oh my gosh. Stop,” I say, begging for mercy. “You’re killing me here. I ate too much.”
“Serves you right,” Dancy grouches. “Glutton.”
“Okay, we’re sorry we laughed, Dan. I’m sorry you had such a rotten day.”
Dancy scowls. “You know the Peeker was bad enough, but guess who else was there?”
“Um. Who?” I decide no more making fun. Not when there is more turkey on my plate.
“Jack Quinn. Of all people.”
“Who’s that?” I say with my mouth full.
Dancy frowns. “Would you swallow?”
“Sorry.” Oops, still full.
“Swallow!”
I do and take a gulp of Diet Pepsi. This is great.
“Jack Quinn is my new boss. Remember?”
“What’s he doing?” Laini asks. “Stalking you?”
“No. Apparently, he’s a friend of Kale’s.”
Laini frowns. “I thought you said he was from London.”
Dancy nods glumly. “He went to NYU. He and Kale were college buddies or something stupid like that. So now my boss and my brother are golfing pals.”
“This might be a good thing, Dan,” I say. “What guy is going to be mean to his best friend’s sister? It’s just not done.”
“Trust me, Jack Quinn couldn’t care less about friendship when it comes to making my life miserable.”
I’m suddenly over the food and focused on my friend—well, maybe one last bite. “What did he say to you?”
“It wasn’t so much what he said as his attitude.” She drops her tone and mimics: “I’m God’s gift to women, but you can’t unwrap the package because you’re not good enough.”
“Dancy! Did you make a pass at the guy?”
“He wishes!” She sends me a look of total outrage. “I’m going to take a bath. Mom got me the new Jodi Picoult book for Christmas.”
Dancy cracks me up. She gets electronics and
diamonds and five-hundred-dollar Jimmy Choos for Christmas, and what does she get excited about? A new book. The girl works for a publisher and gets all the reading material she can handle. It’s just not normal. She stuffs her new book under her arm as she grabs another Diet Pepsi and heads toward the bathroom.
An hour later, I’ve eaten all I can hold, said good night to Laini, and am lying in bed, seriously considering a run to the twenty-four-hour pharmacy on the corner for a bottle of Tums. My stomach is absolutely telling me about my gluttonous rampage after a month of forcing tofu and salad with no dressing down the pipes on a regular basis. I run my hand across my tummy and discover a belly bump. I’m slightly mortified at my lack of self-control. I mean, Shelly having a belly bump is one thing, the girl is four months pregnant. Me? I’m a compulsive overeater. In a few years I’ll be signing up for Weight Watchers if I don’t take care of myself.
Sometimes overeating makes you sleepy. Sometimes it just makes you so miserable you can’t sleep, and the last option is my problem. It’s been two hours since I put away the food and cleaned up the kitchen, and I’m wide awake.
When the buzzer buzzes, it nearly sends me through the roof.
Laini mutters something unintelligible and tosses a pillow over her head. I hop out of bed and head to the living room.
“Who is it?” I hiss.
“Brian.”
“Brian? What are you doing? It’s almost two in the morning.”
“You didn’t call.”
“What?” Oh, my gosh. Was I supposed to? I honestly can’t remember. “I’m sorry, Brian. Can I call you tomorrow?”
“Well, I have this gift for you. Can I come in just for a few minutes?”
“Don’t you dare let him in this apartment, Tabby,” Dancy growls at me from the doorway to her bedroom. “Go away, Brian!” she calls.
“Uh, Brian. That was Dancy. I’m sorry. I can’t let you in this late. It’s against the apartment rules.”
“Oh. Well, how about coming down for a few minutes?”
“Don’t do it,” Dancy warns. “You know what it’s going to look like to him if you go running down the steps in the middle of the night.”
Catch a Rising Star Page 10