“You’ll have a rash in a few days, if that’s what this is.”
“David, honey,” Rachel’s singsong voice penetrates the living room. “They’re waiting. Can we go?”
“Sorry.” David stands and faces her. “I’m going to have to back out on you, Rachel. Tabby’s too sick to watch the kids.”
“What? Oh, Tabby, please. Are you sure you’re not faking it so David can’t go out with me?”
I’m going to kill her. If Dancy doesn’t do it first. My friend clears her throat, a telltale sign she’s about to tear Rachel to shreds with her extensive vocabulary.
“Yeah, she’s faking a case of measles, you…” Thank goodness she stops.
“Measles?” I hate the amusement in Rachel’s voice. “Our Tabby has measles?”
“She got ’em from us,” Jeffy pipes up. “Don’t worry, Miss Brockman. We know how to take care of you.” He turns to Jenn. “Let’s make her some tomato soup and grilled cheese.”
My heart melts. Clearly I’ve been completely wrong about these two. “That’s so sweet of you, Jeffy.”
I meet David’s gaze, and he’s smiling at me.
“Listen,” I hear myself saying. “You don’t want to miss your reservations. Dancy’s here with us. I’m not going to reinfect the kids so go and enjoy your evening, and I’ll lie on the couch and rest while you’re gone.”
“No way,” David says with a frown.
“Oh, David, please? Where am I going to find another date this late?” Rachel’s whiny voice pipes up. “The kids are covered, Tabby will be asleep in five minutes, so let’s go have our dinner with Trey and Julie.”
“Rachel’s right, David. I’ll be okay. Besides, the kids want to fix me some grilled cheese and tomato soup. Are you going to deprive me of that?”
He hesitates. “All right. I suppose.”
Rachel slips her hand through his arm once more. “Let’s go, then. The meter’s running.”
I close my eyes and finally give in to my desperate need to lie down. A minute later a warm, fuzzy blanket covers me. My eyes hurt so I don’t open them. But I feel a hand caress my head. “Sleep tight, Tabby,” David whispers.
“Mmm…” is the most I can muster before sliding into darkness.
I’m floating through the air. I have no idea where I’m going, only that strong arms are around me and I’m being carried. Carried? I gasp and try to sit up.
“Take it easy, Tabby.”
“David?”
“It’s okay. I’m taking you to Dancy’s car.”
“I’m too heavy,” I hear myself protest.
“Shh. You hardly weigh anything at all.”
I snuggle back against his chest because it feels good to be taken care of. This moment is so surreal, I’m almost positive I’m dreaming.
“David?” I whisper through the dreamy fog.
“Hmm?”
“You’re too nice for Rachel. Don’t go out with her anymore, okay?”
His chest beneath my fever-ravaged head rumbles, and I wonder if he’s laughing.
“Laugh if you want,” I hear Dancy say. “But she’s right, you know.” Dancy? When did she enter my dream?
“Rachel doesn’t mean to be so insensitive. She’s going through a lot right now.”
“Yeah, sure she is,” Dancy says as I feel myself being lowered into Dancy’s passenger seat. Hmm. I guess I’m not dreaming after all. Which means David just defended Rachel.
Which would be a real bummer if I weren’t going to die anyway.
20
The next three days are a blur of coughing, fever, runny nose, and pain in my eyes, followed by a few more days of measles rashes—a total of ten days in all. My mother insists on being at my side and has made up a bed on the living room sofa. Thank goodness she’s going home today. We’ve turned something of a corner in our relationship, but being cooped up with a mom for more than a week is just more than anyone should have to endure.
Blythe is fit to be tied that her filming schedule is off. But a note from my doctor is keeping me out of hot water. I mean, is it my fault I have the measles?
They’ve written my story line out of the show for a couple of weeks. Passing reference has been made to Felicia’s desperate need to get out of town and process all the memories that are beginning to surface. How convenient for me?
But I can’t lose the memory of Rachel’s possessive hold on David’s arm as they left for their dumb ol’ date on Valentine’s Day. I guess they must really be an item if he took her out on the most romantic day of the year. At any rate, he certainly didn’t ask me out. Darn it.
He has, however, called me almost every day during my bout with the measles. Our conversations range from quick, “How are you feeling today?” calls to hour-long getting to know you conversations. I’m starting to think David might actually be interested after all.
“Well, I’m off now,” Mom announces as I’m finishing up my breakfast. I’ve been so ill, I think I’ve actually gotten down to my size four. A tight size four, but still… Freddie will be proud.
“Want me to ride over in the cab with you? I know how you hate to take cabs alone.”
“No. You take today to rest.” She kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll manage just fine.”
“Thanks for everything,” I say, because even though I’m relieved she’s going home, she really did come through in a pinch. And when I thought I was dying for a few miserable days, I was extremely glad to be cared for by my mother’s soft touch.
This is my last day off. It’s Friday so of course I have the weekend. But that doesn’t count because I’d have been off anyway. I decide to take a hot bath and use some of Dancy’s aromatherapy bubbles. She doesn’t mind. As a matter of fact, she’s delighted when anyone takes on her particular obsession and soaks away tension.
I soak for a luxurious full two hours, reading The Notebook for the tenth time. What a love story. Will any man ever love me forever?
David’s face comes to mind. David… beautiful eyes, tender smile. A great father. And maybe, just maybe, interested in me.
I’ve just dressed in a pair of Levi’s jeans (which are quite loose after barely eating a bite for ten days), my white T-shirt from the Gap, and a light blue Nike track jacket. It feels great to have real clothes on instead of PJs. The sun is shimmering, and the temperature has risen to the mid-fifties. Unable to resist the call of fresh late-winter air, I pull on my Nikes, stuff my ID and a few bucks into my jeans pocket, and head outside.
After buying a soap mag from an outdoor vendor four blocks from my apartment, I duck into Nick’s Coffee and Dessert for a chai mocha latte and a slice of cheesecake.
“Hey, yo there, Tabby Brockman,” Nick, the middle-aged Italian behind the counter calls as soon as I step inside. Dancy is sure the coffee shop is a front for some business even more sinister in nature, but I’m not convinced. I’d rather believe Nick is exactly what he seems—an overweight, slightly balding Italian with a great cheesecake recipe. His smile spreads across his whole face. “If it ain’t our neighborhood celebrity. Where you been lately? I thought you started goin’ to Starbucks or somethin’.”
“Never!” I step up to the counter. “I’ve been sick. Measles, can you believe it?”
“Ain’t you a little old for the measles?”
“You’d think.” I don’t even bother to be offended by the uncouth comment. I adore Nick too much. “Apparently anyone can get it.”
“You ain’t gonna give it to me, are ya?”
I laugh. “No. I’m past being contagious.”
He’s fixing my latte without even taking my order. It would serve him right if I changed it up. But then, I don’t want anything else. I’m such a creature of habit.
“Been watching you on that soap opera,” Nick says without looking up from the latte machine. “When are you going to get your memory back?”
“Now, Nick, you know I can’t share story secrets. I could get fired.”
“Oh, c
ome on. Not even to old Nick?”
I shake my head. “Not even the man who makes the best chai mocha latte and cheesecake in Manhattan.”
He flushes with pleasure and sets my latte on the counter. I dig into my pocket and pull out a twenty dollar bill. He frowns and waves it away. “’Ey now, put that away. Your money’s no good today.”
“Hey, thanks, Nick.” I grab my drink and cheesecake and wander to my favorite corner table.
Rachel’s face glares at me as soon as I open my magazine to the Who’s Who and Stars around Town section. Rachel… and David. Rachel Savage enjoys a romantic dinner with a mystery man. She sure can pick them.
“She sure can pick them,” I mimic bitterly.
“Did you say something?” a woman’s voice asks. “Oh, Tabby, it’s you.”
Heat floods my face as I turn to the woman at the next table over. The woman who happens to be Greta, the pastor’s wife from New Wine Fellowship. I wonder if I should say “God is good” or something. No. I mean, He is, but no.
“I’ve been hoping to see you again at church.”
I scrutinize the comment. What’s she really saying? But as I look into guileless eyes, I realize she’s not trying to guilt me into anything.
“I’ve had the measles.”
“You got them from the Gray twins?” Her eyes go wide, and then she smirks. “I’m sorry. But I don’t usually associate measles with someone your age.”
“Yes, well, actually my doctor says anyone can get them if they’re not immune. And it’s really hard on adults,” I pout, “so I was miserable for days.”
“I’m sorry, Tabby. I didn’t mean to make fun.” Then how come her eyes are still shining with mirth? “Can I join you?”
Well, I really just wanted to be alone, but she is the pastor’s wife so I guess I should be nice. I nod, trying to drum up an enthusiastic smile. “Sure.”
She hops up with all the energy I lack these days and brings her latte and chocolate éclair with her to my table. “I’ve been meaning to congratulate you on being back on the show.” She smiles, nodding toward the magazine. “I try to watch it once a week so I can keep up with your character and the twins’ story line, but I don’t always get to.”
My eyes go wide. “You watch the show?”
“Well, I admit, I don’t much care about the other story lines. The only reason I’m watching at all is because you and the twins are in it. Don’t tell anyone.” A laugh escapes. “Just kidding.”
I’m completely floored. I can’t believe this woman who exudes spiritual maturity and confidence actually watches me on a soap opera at least once a week. She sips her drink and dabs her shiny lips with a napkin.
“Listen, I was wanting to ask you if you’d like to come share at a ladies’ meeting in April.”
Taken aback, I stare slack-jawed at the woman. “You want me?”
A smile lights her olive-skinned face. “Sure. You could give your testimony of how you came to know God. Talk about what it’s like being a Christian in the TV industry. Especially as a soap opera star—you know what people think about those.”
“With good reason, for the most part,” I hear myself saying. Did I really say that?
“But every industry needs Christians. You’ve been placed strategically by God to make a difference in your world. It’s a big responsibility—and an honor—that God trusts you enough to put you there, Tabby.”
“I’ve never really thought of it that way.”
She gives me a kind smile that reaches all the way to her eyes. “Maybe you should. David says you are a light in the place and that there is a noticeable difference on the set when you’re off or if the kids are shooting a scene with someone other than you.”
“He does?”
“Yep.” She glances at her watch. “Goodness. Time has gotten away from me today. I have to get home and start thinking about what to cook my family for supper. Think about what I asked and let me know within a couple of weeks, okay?”
I swallow hard and nod. “Okay, I’ll let you know.”
I watch her walk away, laptop in hand, and something hits me.
Can I be your voice on the set of Legacy, Lord?
I glance back down and see the photo of Rachel and David. A sigh escapes me. It would be a lot easier if I could just be nice to everyone except Rachel. What right does she have to be on the arm of such a great guy?
I know one thing. I’m going to be at church on Sunday morning. New Wine Fellowship. I think maybe I’ve found the church for me. Heaven only knows what Mom and Dad will say about me switching churches, but you know? A girl can’t stay tied to the family pew forever.
On Sunday, I talk Dancy and Laini into joining me at New Wine Fellowship. It’s only the second regular service I’ve attended, and I’m energized as soon as the band starts to play. I’m caught up in the excitement when Laini nudges me. “Look who’s here,” she whispers.
My heart speeds up even before I see the latecomer. When I turn following Laini’s gaze, I catch my breath. David’s eyes are on me. I smile and somehow find the presence of mind to wave him over to an empty seat in our row.
“Where are the kids?” I whisper.
“Kids’ church,” he whispers back and that’s all we have time for until the service is over. After the closing prayer, he turns to me. “Good to see you here.”
“Same here.”
“So, David…” I tense as soon as I hear Dancy’s tone.
I think he sort of tenses too. His face takes on a guarded expression. “Yes?”
“Where’s your gal pal?”
I cringe, but somewhere inside I’m grateful for a friend like Dancy who isn’t afraid to say what I’m thinking. I cut a glance to David, and I’m relieved to see he’s smirking. Totally not offended by Dancy’s blunt question.
“If you mean Rachel, I imagine she’s sleeping in.”
“And where is she sleeping in at?”
Okay, besides the fact that her sentence is completely incorrect grammatically, and that’s a little disconcerting coming from an assistant editor, I think that one might have been a little over the top. I step in, looping my arm through hers. “Okay, well. David, it’s been great seeing you again. I’ll see you on the set tomorrow.”
Without even waiting for his farewell, I pull Dancy down the row, with Laini following closely behind. “What’s wrong with you?” I demand when we get to the parking lot.
“Oh, don’t tell me you weren’t wondering how he knew she was sleeping in.”
“You know what? It’s none of my business. And it definitely isn’t your business.”
“Let’s take this home, you two,” says Laini, the voice of reason.
“Fine,” we say in unison and actually, that’s all there is to it. We never finish our conversation because my cell phone goes off the second we pile into Dancy’s BMW.
David’s voice greets me. “Hey, look—I’m sorry about that,” I say as soon as he identifies himself.
“That’s why I’m calling. Tell Dancy that I don’t know where Rachel slept last night, and I’m just guessing that she’s sleeping in.”
My face goes hot. “Well, um, thanks for calling, and I’ll certainly let her know.”
“I’d appreciate it.” He hangs up just like that, and I can tell he went from amused with her first question to a little ticked at the innuendo of the second. I scowl and relay the message to Dancy.
“Well, now we know, don’t we?” she says without so much as the tiniest smidgen of remorse. I want to rail at her. To tell her she can’t just go around insinuating that David is having an inappropriate relationship with Rachel Savage.
But you know… now we know.
Monday morning I wake at four a.m. to the sound of the garbage truck on the street. As if Mondays weren’t bad enough. “You awake?” Laini whispers from her bed.
“What do you think?”
“I’m worried, Tabs.”
Turning onto my side, I prop myself up
on my elbow. “About what?”
“What if I’m making a bad decision here? Maybe I should just go back to accounting and forget about design.”
Forget interior design? What was all this trouble for if she’s just going to make a run for the math as soon as she gets a little nervous?
“Come on, Laini. You don’t really mean that, do you?”
“I’m honestly not sure. I’m good at accounting, you know.”
“You’re lucky you’re so good at two professions. When I lose this job on Legacy of Life, I’ll have nothing to fall back on.”
Laini laughs, just like I’d hoped. “Come on. This is about me, not you.”
“Okay, so which do you want to do? Accounting or interior design?”
“Design. But I like numbers too.”
Okay, that’s just weird. How can anyone like numbers?
“I don’t know what to tell you, Laini. Maybe it’s not your career that’s giving you all this angst. Maybe you need change in another area of your life.”
“Listen to who’s waxing philosophical,” she teases.
“Listen to my words of wisdom, Grasshopper.”
“You watch too many old TV shows.”
“Look who’s talking.”
The hallway light switches on and glows beneath our door just before we hear a knock. Dancy pokes her head in. “Are you guys awake?”
“Of course.”
She sighs and flops down at the end of my bed. “The Bakers are yelling again. Why don’t those two just split up and put each other—and me—out of their misery?”
“Or go to counseling and work out their problems,” I say.
Dancy gives a short laugh. “My parents have been in counseling for ten years and they still don’t get along. They only stay together so they don’t have to split the money.”
I never know what to say when Dancy gets all bitter about her folks.
“How are things going at the office?” I ask. Sometimes it’s better to just change the subject.
My tactic works. Dancy shakes her head. “Jack is an English egomaniac. I swear, he thinks all he has to do is walk into the office, flash that Hugh Grant boyish grin, talk in that accent—which, by the way, I’m not completely convinced is real—and everyone will just do whatever he wants. It’s sickening to watch the other women in the office go la-la over him.”
Catch a Rising Star Page 20