“Hit the spot. The wife doesn’t allow me to eat the stuff. Says it’ll take five years off my life.”
“I won’t tell her if you won’t.” Note to self, don’t offer Randy any more pizza. Could possibly be contributing to ill health and/or marriage difficulties. Although that’s probably a moot point anyway because I won’t be coming back to David’s apartment.
I grab Dancy’s keys from my purse before I step outside, then turn back and smile at Randy. “Night.”
“I’ll keep an eye out until you drive away.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
I don’t know how I lucked out enough to get a parking spot close to the building. I crank the engine. It makes a lot of noise, but doesn’t start. Stupid eleven-year-old car! My heart picks up. This has never, ever happened before. I crank the engine again. It fires up. But before I can feel a second of relief, it sputters and dies.
I pull the hood latch and jerk out of the car. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but popping the hood seems to be the right course of action.
Help, Lord. I don’t know what to do.
“What seems to be the trouble?”
Pain shoots through my head as I jump and bang on the open hood. “Sheesh, David. Warn a person! What are you doing down here, anyway? Where are the kids?”
“Sorry for startling you, I’m down here because Randy called and said you’re having car trouble, and the kids are still in bed where you left them.”
“Alone in the apartment? Are you crazy? Get up there before someone steals them out of their beds.”
“Relax. Mrs. Rutledge, my next-door neighbor, is looking after them.”
Relief floods me even as I feel a little foolish. “Sorry for overreacting.”
He grins. “I liked it.”
“Well, anyway. I’d better get back under that hood and see what’s going on.”
“Know a lot about cars, do you?” Is he making fun of me?
“Well—not really, but maybe if I…” I reach out to touch a black, dirty cable of some sort. But David’s hand covers mine before I actually make contact with the filthy vehicle.
His lips twitch. “May I?”
“Be my guest,” I say as though I’m doing him a huge favor.
“How about if you go turn the key so I can hear what it’s doing.”
“It’s not starting,” I huff. “That’s the problem.”
“Okay, humor me.”
I jerk around to the driver’s side and slide in the car. I turn the key. The car makes a valiant effort, but again sputters and dies.
David drops the hood into place and walks around to my window. I open the door. “What are you doing?” I demand.
“Tabby.”
Is he trying not to laugh? I’m so glad he thinks it’s hilarious.
“What?” I ask.
“I think you ran out of gas.”
That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. “Obviously you’re no mechanic! Because there is no way I’m out of—” I look down at the gas gauge. E. “Oh.”
I slide my hand over to my purse and pull out my cell phone. “Know the number of a good taxi?” I ask glumly.
David reaches out and instinctively I take his hand. He pulls me from the car. “Why don’t I drive to the gas station a couple of blocks away and get you enough gas to make it to the station? Then you won’t have to waste time and money taking a cab home tonight and back over here tomorrow to pick up your car.”
Such a gentleman. And what a sensible solution. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”
“Will you come upstairs and stay with the kids for me so Mrs. Rutledge can go home?”
“Of course.” I mean, it’s the least I can do, right? He is going out to get gas for my car. And that’s when I realize, he’s still holding my hand. Should I say anything?
“Are you staying, Miss Brockman?” Randy asks, and he’s sort of frowning like he doesn’t approve.
David drops my hand like a hot potato. “Miss Brockman is going to stay with the kids for a few minutes while I go to the gas station and fill up a gallon jug with gas for her car.” He stares hard at the doorman. “That’s all.”
Randy nods. “That’s good.”
David reaches into his pocket and hands me his keys. “Can you make it upstairs by yourself?”
“Yeah.” I’m a little depressed now. I mean, sure I wouldn’t want Randy to get the wrong idea about why I’m sticking around. But on the other hand, why did David have to be so pointed in letting the doorman know there’s nothing going on between us?
What am I going to have to do to get this guy’s attention?
22
Why didn’t you just confront him and get it over with?” It’s been two days since my babysitting venture at David’s house, and Laini has finally come back to the apartment. Dancy’s so sick with the measles she’s not up for a heart-to-heart, and I’ve been dying to talk to one of my friends about David.
“What was I supposed to say, Laini?”
“How about, ‘Hey dude, how could you ask me to babysit again and go out with the woman who makes my life miserable?’”
“Dude?”
“Shut up.” She tosses a couch pillow at me. I catch it easily and laugh.
“Oh well. Maybe I’m just not cut out for love.”
“Me neither. Let’s just live together forever and get some cats.”
“Oh, and a goldfish.”
“And a guinea pig named Charley.”
Laughter erupts from us until reality strikes home in the form of our dear, measles-infected pal. Dancy’s pale, shaky form exits her bedroom. “You guys are going to have to keep it down. My head is killing me.”
“We’re sorry.” I understand exactly how she feels. “Go back to bed. I’ll bring you some green tea.”
“Thank you,” she mumbles and heads back to her bedroom.
Laini coughs and I shoot around. “Don’t tell me you haven’t had the measles either!”
“I-I don’t know.”
Good grief. Looks like that so-called childhood illness is going to make the rounds in our grown-up apartment.
I give Jenn a wink and a smile just before Blythe calls “Action!”
Felicia: “I know this must be difficult, honey. But I’m sure I’ll start having memories of you and your brother soon. Others are starting to come back, aren’t they?” (I smile at her. She walks across the living room set where I’m sitting on the sofa and climbs up next to me.)
Amber: “It’s okay, Mommy. I don’t remember either.”
Felicia: “I have an idea.” (I smile and slip my arm around the child.)
Jenn looks up with beautiful wide blue eyes and my heart melts a little—I’m having trouble staying in the scene. I must have waited too long because Jenn bails me out with some ad-lib.
Amber: “What’s your idea, mommy?” (She lays her silky head against my chest and my arms encircle her. For some reason, I’m honestly fighting back tears.)
Felicia: “What if we just stop trying to remember back then? What if I start being your real mommy right now and you start being my real daughter?”
(Jenn pulls away slowly and places one hand on either side of my face the way only a five-year-old can. Her lips tremble and her eyes fill with unshed tears.)
Amber: “I’d like that, Mommy.”
I stop fighting my own tears and gather Jenn tight, even though the script doesn’t call for it. I drink in the soft scent of baby shampoo and rest my cheek against her hair. Blythe calls “Cut.” But neither Jenn nor I move for a second.
“Great job, sweetie,” I whisper.
“You too,” she says back, and I relax my hold until she’s at arm’s length. “Can I tell you a secret?”
I nod and wipe away a few remaining tears from her face.
“I wish you really could be my mom.”
My heart squeezes and I realize something… I wish I could be her mom too. I lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead
. “Thank you, sweetie. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. If I had a little girl, I’d want her to be exactly like you.”
I want so much to ask her, “What about Rachel?” But of course, I don’t go there. It wouldn’t be right. And I’m not sure I have the heart for the answer.
“Come on, Jenn!” Jeffy calls. “Dad said we can have a donut.”
I smile at the little girl. She grins back, and off she goes to get her cavity-inducing snack.
Well, that’s that, then, isn’t it? Actually, a donut doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I start to head that way, still thinking about Jenn, when Julie Foster pops up out of nowhere. I stop short.
“Good job with that scene,” she says grudgingly.
I almost croak at the compliment.
“Thanks, Julie. Good writing.” Who am I to withhold credit where credit is due?
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
And there you have it. She walks on by, presumably going to her office.
David is standing with the twins at the food table by the time I get there. I swear, I didn’t see him before I decided to get my donut. I reach for one and my hand gets smacked, but not before I grab hold of the treat. “Hey!”
Freddie—of course—is standing next to me. “I saw you making a beeline and came over to save you from yourself. Put that thing down. Have you seen your butt lately?”
“Yes, and it’s smaller than ever thanks to a little bout with the measles.”
“Exactly. Do you want to make it stretch?”
I’m aware that David is not only listening, but laughing at my expense.
“Freddie, is this really the place to have this conversation? Save it for the gym.”
“The gym? Do you even remember where the gym is, honey? I haven’t seen you there in about… forever.”
Whatever! In a split second of defiance, I put the donut to my mouth. “You can’t tell me what to do.” I stick my tongue out at my friend and take a huge bite. Too huge. My eyes go wide, and I’m trying desperately to chew enough to swallow.
“Oh look, little Miss Piggy,” Freddie says in his mocking girlie tone. “Bite off more than you can chew?”
All the things I’d like to say fill my head, but of course I can’t speak around the massive chunk of fried, sugary dough.
“Are you okay, Tabby?” David stops pretending he’s not eavesdropping, and I hear the concern in his voice.
I raise my index finger and nod. But I’m really not okay. A chunk has slipped down my esophagus, and I can’t breathe. Panic hits me full in the chest, and I reach out and grab David’s arm.
As soon as he realizes what’s going on, he springs into action, positions himself behind my back, wraps his hands around my waist, and presses on my stomach area. Once, twice, and the piece of donut flies out, whacking Freddie between the eyes.
“Ew!” he squeals.
I’m working on catching my breath when I realize David’s arms are still around me. “Thank you,” I finally manage.
Freddie is still freaked out about me spitting on him. He gives me a once-over to make sure I’m okay, then holds up his hand. “I have to go wash myself.” He takes off before I can even apologize.
David turns me in his arms. “You okay?”
I nod and I’m about to say something like “Where’d you learn that?” or something equally asinine, when Rachel’s lithe form shows up next to David, and she lays her fingers on his arm, forcing him to let me go.
“You’re a real hero, David,” she murmurs seductively. Why does that woman always have to butt in?
He clears his throat. “Just doing what needed to be done.” His modest, slightly embarrassed answer definitely adds to his strong, silent type appeal.
“David, don’t forget we have dinner at Trey and Julie’s tonight. Have you thought about getting a babysitter?”
“Uh, no. To tell you the truth I forgot.”
Rachel gives a little pout. “Oh, I’m so disappointed. But wait a second…” She turns to me then, and I know what’s coming. “Tabby, do you have plans tonight?”
“Why, Rachel? Am I invited for dinner with Julie and Trey also?”
Her cheeks flush. And I decide to let her off the hook. I focus on David. “Actually, I don’t have plans, and I’d be happy to stay with the kids again if you need me, David.”
Rachel’s face brightens. “How sweet! Thank you ever so much, Tabby.”
David frowns and shakes his head. “No, Tabby. That’s asking too much of you.”
“Don’t worry about it. The twins owe me a rematch of Chutes and Ladders anyway. I’m down about ten games.”
“Wonderful,” Rachel says and removes her hand from David’s arm. “Pick me up at seven. Thanks again, Tabby. Ta-ta.”
Personally, I think anyone who says “ta-ta” should be placed in front of a firing squad and forced to promise they’ll never say it again. Unless they’re saying it as a joke, that is.
“Tabby, I don’t want you to do this.” David’s warm hand is on my arm, detaining me from walking away. It’s all I can do to cover his with mine and revel in the touch, but apparently, Rachel is in and I’m out. So what’s the point?
I lean in close to him and whisper for his ears alone. “I owe you for saving my life just now,” I say. “But next time you have a date with Rachel or anyone else, I have two words for you: plan ahead. Because my babysitting services are out of business.”
“Hey, I said—”
“Too late,” I say. “I guess I’ll see you a little before seven.” I wink at the twins. “Be prepared for a Chutes and Ladders rematch—you’re going down.” They snicker. I wiggle my fingers at David. “Ta-ta, dahling.”
Back in my dressing room, I find my script for the next day’s scenes. I give it a once-over. “Oh no. That’s not going to happen.” No wonder Julie was nice to me. Nice to my face, stab me in the back. She really thinks Felicia would fall in love with her psychiatrist? No way! No way! I jerk to my feet and yank open my door.
When I get to Julie’s office, I don’t even bother to knock.
She looks up from her computer and sits back, eyeing me with a squint. “What can I do for you, Tabitha?”
I drop the script onto her desk. “What’s the meaning of this?”
She flips through the pages, then meets my gaze with cool indifference. “Which words are you having trouble with? Maybe I can help. Is it that one right there?” she asks pointing to the first page.
Okay, I walked right into that one. “Don’t play coy with me, Julie. Felicia is not going to sleep with her psychiatrist.”
She stands and her eyes narrow dangerously as she leans across her desk. “Felicia does what I say she does. I think you’d better remember what happened last time I decided Felicia was going to go away.”
“You’re seriously threatening me?”
“Call it whatever you want.”
I snatch up my script and head for the door. “We’ll see what Blythe and Jerry have to say about this.”
“Memo to you,” she mocks. “I already ran these scenes by them both before we finalized them.”
“And Blythe agreed to this?”
“Thought it was brilliant.”
“We’ll see.”
I slam out of her office and down to Jerry’s. His door is closed, and his assistant isn’t at her desk. I give Jerry more respect than I did Julie. At least I knock.
“Excuse me, Miss Brockman.” The assistant has returned and is frowning at me. “Can I help you?”
“I need to see Jerry right away.”
“I’m sorry, but he’s gone home for the weekend.”
I give a frustrated sigh. “Is Blythe Cannon still here?”
“I believe so. Want me to page her?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind. Tell her to call my cell phone.”
The director calls me within five minutes. “What’s wrong, Tabby?”
“Have you read my scenes for Mo
nday?”
“Where Felicia and the psychiatrist… ?”
“Yes. That’s it.”
“I questioned that, Tabby. But Jerry sided with Julie. I honestly don’t know what she’s thinking.”
But I do. I know exactly. Felicia is starting to remember the love of her life—Rudolph. And Julie doesn’t want me in her husband’s arms.
“Blythe. You know what’s going on. You must.”
“I know, but what can we do? Unless you’re willing to walk and risk a lawsuit.”
I groan. “The fans will be fit to be tied if Felicia has an affair. Especially now that she’s starting to get her memory back.”
“Oh, great scene with the kid today, by the way.”
“Thanks. I’ve been working on that.”
“It shows. Very convincing.”
“I appreciate the affirmation, Blythe, but I’m still not doing this scene. I’m not doing this ridiculous story line. It’s just not right. First of all, Felicia wouldn’t have an affair out of wedlock just because she can’t remember her husband. Her morals run too deep.”
“You mean your morals run too deep.”
“Okay. Maybe so. But my convictions will not allow me to do a story line where my character sleeps with someone who isn’t her husband. My fans know I’m a Christian. My pastor’s wife watches the show, for crying out loud!”
“Tell you what. Let’s take it up with Jerry on Monday. Okay? I’ll back you up.”
Relief shoots through me. “Thanks.”
I return to my dressing room, grab my coat, and look ahead to my evening with the twins.
23
The group around Jerry’s conference table is a somber lot—myself included. Mondays are bad enough, what with the weekend over, the garbage truck waking me up at four in the morning, and just the whole thought of Monday in general. But add to it that I’ve been dreading this confrontation all weekend, and I really wish I could have stayed in bed. Here we are, Jerry, Blythe, a very belligerent Julie, myself, and Kyle, my agent. I need someone on my side in case Blythe Cannon bails on me.
Jerry folds his hands and meets my gaze across the sleek oak table. “What seems to be the problem, Tabitha?”
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