And Playing the Role of Herself...

by K E Lane

"Me too," I said simply, feeling the weight of Robyn's gaze.

  Trish's brow furrowed slightly - exactly like Robyn, I thought fleetingly - and she looked me up and down. "I don't watch a lot of TV, but I've caught your show a few times, when Robby's on it." I could tell that information both surprised and pleased Robyn. "Sorry I didn't recognize you, you look…different."

  Wrinkled clothes and bed head will do that to a girl, I thought dryly, and ran a self-conscious hand through my hair. "Not being recognized is fine with me. On screen I'm normally hidden beneath several layers of makeup and mousse, so it's understandable."

  She stared at me a moment, then laughed and picked her coffee back up. "With a face like that, I doubt you need many layers." I raised an eyebrow in surprise and she laughed again. "Don't look so surprised to hear you're gorgeous. All Robyn's friends are. After all, it's what you get paid for, isn't it? Go on camera, look pretty, make a fortune…"

  I blinked at the sudden turn in conversation, and wondered if maybe she was kidding.

  "Trish." Robyn's tone was a mixture of impatience and warning, and let me know Trish wasn't kidding. She really had gone from complimentary to insulting in the span of a few words, for no apparent reason. Unless her reason was to piss Robyn off, and in that case, she had succeeded admirably.

  "Well," I said, keeping my voice mild, "I like to think there's a little more to it than that." I smiled coolly at her and picked up my bag, checking the contents quickly before slinging it over my shoulder. "Kind of like being a chef is more than just following recipes. Isn't it?"

  Trish opened her mouth, and then closed it again, and a slight blush appeared on her cheeks. "Yes, it is," she said quietly. "I'm sorry, I was out of line."

  "Yes, you were," I said evenly, thinking I should just leave it at that. Unfortunately my mouth, angry at the implied insult to Robyn, had other ideas. "I don't mind so much for myself - hell, I know why I got my job, and it wasn't my acting ability. But your sister is good. Very good. And she's had to work twice as hard to get where she is because of her looks, and because of attitudes like the one you just expressed." I put my hands on my hips, my voice angry now. "Were you ever turned down for a job because you're too pretty to possibly be a good chef?"

  "I…" She was staring at me, wide-eyed in the face of my sudden anger.

  Shit. Way to make a good first impression. I bit my lip and took a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. "Sorry, I didn't mean to go off like that." My apology was met with silence as I dug my keys out of my bag. "I should probably go. Trish, despite how it might seem, it really was nice to meet you."

  She nodded slowly, glancing from me to Robyn, and said faintly, "Yeah, you too."

  "Robyn…" I turned towards her, expecting anger or disappointment but finding instead a warm smile.

  "I'll walk you out." She glanced at her sister. "I'll be back in a minute."

  We walked up the stairs in silence, and when we reached the front door I paused and turned towards her. "I'm sorry, I got a little carried away…"

  The ferocity of her kiss took me by surprise, and I'm sure the whimper I heard as our bodies pushed up against the door was mine. Her tongue plunged into my mouth and my keys clattered to the floor from fingers that suddenly, urgently, needed to feel her skin. My hands went under the hem of her robe, squeezing the soft flesh of her behind, and she moaned when I trailed them down her upper thighs and then back up, drawn to the heat, dipping briefly into wetness…

  "God…" She pulled herself away abruptly and stepped back, leaving my hands grasping air. "You…" She shook her head, breathing heavily.

  "You started it," I accused, sagging against the door, trying to get my own labored breathing and wildly beating heart under control. "You can't expect nothing to happen when you kiss me like that. Whenever you touch me…" I shook my head, amazed and a little scared by our loss of control.

  "I know…god, I know. It's…"

  "Crazy." I finished for her.

  "Yeah," she breathed. "Crazy."

  She moved forward tentatively and I completed the motion, pulling her into my arms and resting my chin on her shoulder.

  "I'm going to miss you," I whispered finally after we stood in silence for several long moments. I hesitated, knowing we had already talked about this, but I needed to ask. "Will you call me when you can?"

  "Caid…" She sighed heavily and pulled back a little, cradling my face in her hands. "I thought you might be a distraction before. And now…" She shook her head. "I really want this, Caid. I need this part, need to do it right. I don't know if I can…"

  I stopped her with a kiss, smiling apologetically. "I know, and I'm sorry. I told myself I wouldn't push, but…two months is just a long damn time."

  "I know." She stroked my cheek, her eyes searching my face. "I'll call when I get settled, and then I'll see how things are going, okay?"

  "Okay." I nodded and pulled her back into an embrace, holding her tightly. "I should go."

  I felt her nod, but neither of us loosened our grip. Finally I took a deep breath and stepped away from her to slip on the shoes that I'd kicked off in the foyer the night before. She bent down and picked up my keys, handing them to me silently.

  I leaned in and kissed her gently one last time, lingering for a moment to memorize the texture and taste of her lips before pulling away. "Be safe, sweetheart." The endearment slipped from my lips without thought.

  She smiled, slow and sweet. "You too, baby. And Caid?" she said as I pulled the door open. I stopped, looking at her expectantly. She pressed her hand to my chest. "You were right when you said it was pretty damn amazing. It was."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Stroke…stroke…stroke…breathe.

  Stroke…stroke…stroke…breathe.

  Tuck…twist…push…kick…

  I pushed off the wall into another lap, settling easily into a comfortable rhythm through the water.

  Stroke…stroke…stroke…breathe.

  Stroke…stroke…stroke…breathe.

  Two weeks.

  Stroke…stroke…stroke…breathe.

  She'd been gone two weeks, and I'd talked to her three times. Three damn times.

  She had called from Marathon the night she left L.A. and we'd had an awkward but sweet conversation about her flight, my day, and our night together. I'd shyly told her I missed her, and she said she missed me too, and I'd hung up with a huge, stupid grin plastered on my face. Two days later she had called again between takes to bitch snarkily about what an asshole Lonnie Colchev was. She'd made me laugh and then had to hang up too soon, before anything remotely personal was said. And the final phone call had taken place four days after that and consisted of a stilted conversation about the weather, the island where they were filming, and Josh, who'd made it through the first two rounds of the French Open and was looking very strong. I'd hung up frustrated and unsatisfied; a feeling that hadn't gone away in the seven days since, despite the flower delivery I'd received four days ago and the accompanying note that she missed me.

  Stroke…stroke…stroke…breathe.

  I knew what this part meant to her. I knew what she felt she had to do to be successful. Her focus and drive were one of the things that attracted me to her in the first place. I knew she thought talking with me would be a distraction that she couldn't afford and I had expected that as she got deeper into filming, I'd hear from her less. I knew all these things, but hadn't been prepared for how damn frustrating it would be. I missed her, and it was driving me crazy.

  I glided into the wall, finishing my last 500, and pushed my goggles up. Checking my time by habit, I wasn't surprised I'd shaved a good bit of time off my normal workout. I'd been pushing myself lately, in an effort to keep myself sane, and if nothing else, the next month and a half was going to put me in better shape that I'd ever been in my life.

  After a few minutes of stretching out my shoulders on the diving blocks, I dragged myself out of the water and walked to the locker room, my feet slapping we
tly on the concrete. It was mid-afternoon and the gym was sparsely populated, so I took my time showering and changing, having nothing planned until dinner this evening with Liz.

  Showered and dressed in shorts and a baggy t-shirt, I dropped my locker key at the front desk.

  "Thank you, Miss Harris." The dark skinned, athletically built man behind the desk took my key with a smile. "Would you like to set up something with Shawn for later in the week? He has openings on Thursday or Friday at one and three."

  I nodded, adjusting my gym bag higher on my shoulder. "Let's try for Thursday, three o'clock. And does Toshi have any time after?"

  "Let me check." He glanced down at the monitor behind the desk and pressed a series of keys. "Toshi is already booked for that time…" A few more keystrokes. "Colleen has time at five…"

  "That'll work."

  He entered the information, and looked back up at me. "Okay…I have you booked for a training session with Shawn at three on Thursday, and a massage with Colleen after that at five. Let us know if you need to change any of that around."

  "I will. Thanks Greg, have a good one."

  "You're welcome, Miss Harris. You have a great day too, and we'll see you on Thursday."

  I waved and walked through the lobby and out into the smog-filtered sunshine, checking my cell for messages as I walked to where Twila was parked. Two messages from Connie. I frowned, thinking over my schedule for the week, knowing I had nothing, business-wise, scheduled. I called her back instead of listening to her messages, figuring if she left two, she'd want to talk to me anyway.

  She answered immediately, launching into me without greeting. "Caid, hon, I'm all for you seeing someone, but if you're going to end up in a lip-lock on the cover of some tabloid, I'd like a little notice."

  My lungs stopped working, and even though physically I knew it was impossible, my stomach fell to the pavement with an audible thud.

  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…

  There was no way someone could have gotten pictures of Robyn and me but apparently, somehow, someway, someone had.

  God, if this doesn't send Robyn to freakville, nothing will.

  "Caid? Are you still there?" Connie's slightly chastising tone had turned to one of concern.

  "I…" I cleared my throat and took a calming breath. "Yeah, I'm here."

  "So, something you'd like to share with me?"

  "Uh…well…"

  She clucked in annoyance. "Caid, I suppose it's not imperative that you tell me who your gentleman friend is, but since there's a blurry but recognizable picture of you kissing some blond hunk on the front page of The Hollywood Seer, I'm going to get some calls. What would you like me to say?"

  "Gentleman friend?" I repeated dumbly, going over her words again.

  Gentleman. Blond. Kissing.

  James.

  James and his sneak attack at the beach house.

  The relief was so intense that I felt light-headed, and I started laughing, not stopping until there were tears in my eyes. "Oh…god…Connie, I'm sorry," I apologized, getting myself under control. "You just…I thought…never mind." I giggled again. "Um, I'm not involved with the guy in the picture; it was sort of an accident."

  "An accident," she said in disbelief.

  "Yeah."

  She paused. "Well, do you want me giving out this gentleman's name?"

  I thought for a moment. Despite the fact that James might like to be named as the person in the photo, it would cause more trouble than he realized, and I really didn't need a story circulating about how I was prone to kissing barely legal friends of my brother's.

  "I don't mind telling you who it was, Con, if you'd really like to know, but I'd rather not name him to the press, okay?"

  "Sounds fair," she said cautiously, "Caid, is this going to be something I don't want to know?"

  I laughed. "It's not terrible, but I'd rather it not get around. My brother and a friend were staying with me at Liz's beach house, a few days after the whole Big Bear thing, and the friend - James - kinda ambushed me out on the deck."

  "So, are seeing him then?"

  "God no!" I said, appalled at the thought. "Connie, he's just turned twenty-one, for Christ sakes. Give me a little credit."

  Connie laughed. "You certainly wouldn't be the first actress to take a younger man as a lover, Caid. Happens all the time. Makes good press, usually."

  "Yeah, well…not this time. Sorry to disappoint."

  "I'm not disappointed, hon. But for future reference, if you do decide to date a younger man, I'm all for it. As long as he's legal, that's gold."

  I rolled my eyes. "Would you like me to start trolling the local high school parking lots? Anything particular I should look for? Jocks, potheads, musicians?"

  "I don't think that will be necessary." She laughed, and I could hear typing in the background. "So, you're not seeing anyone?"

  I didn't want to lie to Connie; there was a chance she'd be handling fallout from something a lot bigger than me dating a teenager. But I wasn't quite ready to tell the truth, either.

  "No, the James thing was a one-kiss deal, I'm not dating him."

  She was silent for several moments, and I knew she'd picked up on my change of wording. "Caid, let me ask you again. Is there something you want to tell me?"

  It was my turn to be silent before finally answering, "Not right now, Con, no."

  She sighed. "Just don't let them blindside me, please. I hate when people know more than I do."

  I laughed lightly. "I'll try to make sure that doesn't happen, I promise."

  "Alright," she said grumpily. "Now back to the kissing bandit. You know if I give them a no comment, it might get you more attention instead of less, and I know how you hate that."

  "I know." I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand. "I thought about that, too, but I really don't want James named. It's just the Seer, right?"

  "So far."

  I sighed. "If it gets me more attention, I'll just have to deal with it. They're never interested in me for very long - I live a very boring life. Hell, I disappeared and was possibly murdered by a roaming motorcycle gang, and that died down within a week."

  She chuckled. "Okay, it's your call. But how about we say he's a friend and it's not serious, instead of no comment. Might stir up less interest."

  "Whatever you think is best, as long as his name stays out of it. Thanks, Con."

  "You are quite welcome. Now while I've got you on the line, the studio called earlier. They want you on the network morning show next week before they air the final 9th Precinct episode, and Night Talk right after."

  "Ugh." Somehow, in all that had happened in the last few weeks, I'd forgotten about my big primetime kiss. That was going to bring more press than any teenage lover would. "This is going to suck, isn't it?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

  "For you personally, I'm afraid so, hon. But I still think it'll be a good move professionally."

  "Like I had a choice," I grumbled.

  "What?"

  "Nothing. Do you have an itinerary?"

  "Of course. The finale airs Tuesday, and they'd like you for the morning show that morning, and Night Talk on Wednesday…the four-thirty taping. Do you want to stay over, or shall I book two flights?"

  I grimaced, not liking the thought of flying back Tuesday morning just to turn around and fly again on Wednesday.

  "Staying over is fine."

  I heard more typing. "The morning show tapes at seven, and they expect you there at six…you want the redeye, or afternoon flight on Monday?"

  "I hate the redeye, especially if I have to function that morning…put me on the five o'clock - I can have a late dinner at Ono."

  "Okay…I'll have Danielle book you for a Monday afternoon flight; two nights at the Gansevoort, and the…eight o'clock back to LA on Wednesday?"

  "Ugh," I repeated, and Connie laughed.

  "Sorry, hon."

  "Eh, I chose this job, guess I gotta live with the consequences
. Oh, you'll be happy to know that Liz is dragging me to Crustacean tonight - she was feeling like a photo op, and somehow talked me into joining her."

  "It won't kill you to get a little press, especially with Liz," she said in a scolding tone. "You might get some questions tonight about the Seer photo…try not to be belligerent, okay? Just smile and say nothing, and if they want a quote, they can call me."

  "Ugh." I hadn't thought of that. I contemplated canceling, but the wrath of Liz was much worse than a few nosy photogs or reporters. "I'll do my best. Liz says I need to work on my charm skills."