TURN ME ON

by Kristin Hardy

  Stef forced down the spurt of temper and kept walking.

  "It's all right, Costas, you can tell me. 'Course, the way she's sticking her tongue down that guy's throat, maybe you should have her tested first."

  Stef turned to see Mr. Omaha plant one on Sabrina.

  "Get a shot of that," Franzen ordered his photographer. "We'll run it next to the pic of her mom crying and say it's a family embarrassment."

  Stef raised his hand swiftly and put it over the lens. "That's enough."

  The photographer cursed and tried to pull away, but Stef kept his hand on the lens.

  "Goddammit, get your hands out of there," Franzen barked, shoving Stef. It had about as much effect as pushing a wall.

  The photographer yanked at his camera again just as Franzen swiped at Stef's face.

  It was reflex, that's what he'd tell himself later. It was a knee-jerk response to being attacked. It had to do with Franzen's hand coming at him, catching him along the cheekbone.

  It had nothing to do with the sheer satisfaction of sending his fist up to Franzen's jaw in a pivoting right that had the snap of his entire body behind it.

  Franzen's teeth clacked hard and his head snapped back. It felt, Stef thought as pain exploded up through his arm, glorious. And he watched Franzen crumple to the carpet.

  * * *

  19

  « ^ »

  When it came to fights and hangovers, the morning after was seldom a pleasant experience. Stef stood at the sink in the room's dressing area and stuck his hand in the bucket of ice. He flexed the swollen knuckles, wincing. Uppercuts might be effective, but they were hard on the equipment. The last time he'd gotten into a fight, he'd been smart enough to go for a softer target—the nose.

  He could still remember it—Denny Patterson, self-styled tough guy, pushing him up against the hallway wall. He'd rocked Denny back on his heels with a lucky punch, and blood had fountained everywhere. Of course, he'd paid for it with detention and a sworn enemy in Denny, but it had been worth it at the time.

  Somehow, short-term gratification wasn't nearly so satisfying now that he was an adult.

  The knock on the door startled him into the present.

  "Room service." The knock on the door came again.

  "I'll get it." The bathroom door opened and Sabrina came out swathed in a white terry robe with the hotel's logo stitched on it. She opened the door to the hall.

  "Good morning," the waiter said, carrying the tray into the room. "Let's see, I've got coffee, juice and fruit here," he said, briefly raising the covers of the plates to show Sabrina. "Oh, and a copy of the local paper. If you'll just sign the slip?" he said, handing it to her. "Great. Have yourselves a lucky day."

  Sabrina closed the door behind him and turned back to the stiff, tense atmosphere of the room. She walked over to Stef. "How's your hand?"

  He piled some ice in a hand towel and folded it into an ice pack. "I'll live."

  "Do you think we should get it looked at?"

  "It'll be fine." He wrapped the pack around his hand, his words brusque.

  Sabrina hesitated. "You know, you didn't want to talk about the fight last night. Maybe now would be a good time." She laid a hand on his back, but he just stiffened. Finally, she took her hand away and went to the room service tray and poured herself some coffee. She was setting the paper aside to reach for a strawberry when she glimpsed the front page and caught her breath.

  "Let me guess," Stef said. "I've made the papers."

  The National Cable Show claimed some prominent space, with a splashy story and lots of photos. And at the bottom was a sidebar, Filmmaker Belts Journalist, next to a shot of Stef punching Franzen.

  Stef stiffened. "Jesus." He snatched the paper away from her. Short and pithy, the story traded maximum hype for minimal facts. It closed with a quote from Franzen threatening legal action.

  "Great. Just what I need—a felony assault on my record." He tossed down the paper in disgust.

  Sabrina stared at him. "How do you figure? He punched you first. It was hardly even a fight."

  Frustration shouted from every ounce of his body. Stef stalked to the length of windows that made up one whole wall of the room. He stared out over the Vegas skyline. "I don't believe we're having this conversation," he said, almost to himself. "What the hell am I doing here?"

  "It's just one of those things, Stef. It happens."

  He whirled on her. "Not to me. I'll skip the juvenile theatrics, thanks. And I'll skip doing time in the tabloids."

  "I hate to say it, but I don't think you're going to be able to avoid it." She cleared her throat. "Franzen holds a grudge. As a bonus, he knows he can get to me by getting to you, so it's going to be doubly sweet. I'd be careful what I throw out in the trash for the next six to eight months. I'm sorry," she said softly.

  Stef turned back to the window and pressed his fingers to the glass. "This is not going to work," he said, his voice barely audible.

  "Did you say something?" Sabrina raised her head.

  "This is not going to work, Sabrina. It's just not."

  Her lips felt cold. "What's not going to work?"

  Stef stalked back to the bed. "This. Us. Hollywood." He snatched up the paper, smacking it with one hand. "I don't live the kind of life you lead. My investors sink money into my projects because they believe in the subject matter and they believe in me. They don't expect to see me showing up in the gossip column slugging a reporter, no matter how richly he might have deserved it."

  "And what did he do to deserve it, by the way?" Sabrina rose from the bed and stepped toward him. "One minute everything was fine and the next thing I knew, Franzen was down." This wasn't happening, she told herself. It couldn't be happening all over again. She couldn't be listening to him and feeling this sickening lurch.

  Stef cursed. "I can't believe this. I can't believe I let myself get caught up in this." He looked at her and then something seemed to crystallize for him. "Are you going to Greece with me or not?" he demanded.

  The question caught her by surprise. The world seemed to be spinning in double time, too quickly for her to take it all in.

  "I thought not," Stef snapped before she could answer, and stepped past her.

  Sabrina wheeled on him. "Wait a minute. Is that what this is all about? That I didn't give you an answer last night in five minutes?"

  He glared at her. "Yes, it's about Greece. It's about this," he said, holding up the paper, then flinging it to the bed. "It's about being in some tacky hotel room in Las Vegas so we can rub elbows with idiots who can't keep their hands off you. It's about being places I have no desire to be, doing things I don't want to do, just so I can be with you. And then when it's time to go somewhere you might not be comfortable, it's about having to hear … what? I don't know—you don't want to go, but you don't have the guts to tell me."

  "But I can't just—"

  "No, of course you can't. You have to stay here and make nice the Hollywood way. You want to know why I slugged Franzen? To keep him from getting a shot of you with that conventioneer all over you."

  "For God's sakes, it doesn't mean anything, Stef," she threw back at him, her eyes blazing. "Can't you get that through your head? The conventioneer doesn't matter and Franzen doesn't matter. I get hit by Franzen all the time, and I take my lumps. It's just part of doing business."

  "He was going to put it on the cover and use that shot of your mother again. I saw your face when you told me about that one. I know what it does to you," he said furiously. "Is that what you call doing business? Well, I'm sorry, I can't. I can't let that happen to you, because to me it does mean something. And now I might be facing assault charges. I've got stories in the papers that may scare off any future funding. I've got an eighty-five-year-old grandmother who runs around her neighborhood bragging about her moviemaking grandson. How do you think she's going to feel when she walks into the grocery store and sees this? You want me to tell her it doesn't matter?"

  Abruptly
, his fury ebbed. "This is not my life, Sabrina. I can't live it. I love you, but I can't care about things and have you tell me they don't matter."

  She froze. "What did you say?"

  "I said I can't live this way."

  "No, before that. Did you—"

  He shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He pulled open the closet door and began pushing clothes into his carry-on. "You know, it's a good line, now that I think about it. That's what I'm going to start telling myself. It just doesn't matter, you know? It just doesn't matter."

  And with his belongings hurriedly shoved into his bag, he walked out the door, leaving a stunned Sabrina behind him.

  * * *

  20

  « ^

  "Here's the mail." Stef glanced up as Wendy, his administrative assistant, dropped a stack of items into his In box. "The courier brought your airline tickets, too."

  Stef took the brightly colored envelope from her and stared at it. His tickets to Greece. There was a time he would have felt a little charge at what they presaged, but now he just tossed them into his travel folder and set it aside. So maybe some of the excitement was gone, but some of the excitement was gone out of just about everything these days. It was okay, he told himself.

  It didn't matter.

  In the past two weeks, the phase had become his mantra. He said it when he went alone to the premiere of his union documentary and Franzen was there harassing him. He said it when he came across an anecdote only Sabrina would have appreciated but had no one to tell it to. Most of all, he said it when he woke in the night reaching for her and realized she wasn't there.

  It didn't matter. In a little over twenty-four hours, he'd be flying to Greece and, once there, he'd have plenty to keep him occupied. Except, of course, for the one person he wanted.

  It didn't matter.

  Like he'd told Sabrina, it was a handy line. In the wasteland his life had become since Vegas, he'd been using it a lot. He was getting really good at it. And if he practiced it enough, maybe one of these days he might even believe it.

  * * *

  Sabrina sat in her living room, watching the sunset along the canal. When the phone rang, she ignored it. The last thing she wanted to do was talk with anyone. Then the voice came out of the answering machine. "Hi, this is the Vandervere Detective Agency. I'm doing a missing persons search for Sabrina Pantolini. If you have any information, we—"

  Sabrina smiled despite her mood and picked up the phone. "Hi, Kelly."

  "You haven't been returning my calls, young lady. And you've been avoiding the Supper Club. We're starting to take it personally."

  Sabrina let out a breath. "I'm sorry. Things are just hectic right now."

  "Hey, I was just busting on you," Kelly said. "We're worried, that's all. I know the whole breakup with Stef was awful, but you don't have to go it alone. We're here if you need us."

  "Thanks, Kelly. I just haven't felt much like being around people. Work is bad enough."

  "Everything going okay, though?"

  "Home Cinema bought the series."

  Kelly whooped. "That's fabulous news."

  "Yeah, life is good," Sabrina quipped and closed her eyes. It was a ridiculous statement. Nothing was good, nothing at all. Make an effort, dammit, she told herself. "I got a director to work the rest of the True Sex series."

  "Excellent. I know you were stressing over it." Kelly hesitated. "When do you start filming?"

  "She can't start for a couple of weeks, which is good. I don't think I'd be ready for it right away."

  "I'm so sorry, honey. If there's anything I can do…"

  "It's okay. You've been great." Sabrina swallowed around the lump in her throat. "It's just one of those things that's going to take some time, you know? I guess it would be easier if I didn't feel like such a chump for letting the same thing happen to me twice."

  "You went into it with the right intentions. It's not your fault that he let you down again."

  "I just keep wondering if there was something we could have done differently."

  "You'll drive yourself crazy with that one. Let it go."

  "You're right," she sighed.

  "I'm really sorry. I honestly thought things were going to work out this time."

  Sabrina blinked rapidly, holding her breath until the urge to weep passed. She let out her breath slowly. "So did I. I guess we were both wrong."

  "I know you probably don't want to hear that he's a waste of a human—"

  "—being," Sabrina finished for her. "No, I don't really want to hear about him at all, just now, thanks. Listen, I got the copy of Hot Ticket with the article in it. It's really good, I mean it. I'd be saying that even if it weren't about my project. You're a great writer." She opened up the magazine and leaned back, leafing through it until she found Kelly's article.

  And the opening shot, showing Stef behind the camera.

  How could he not realize that they belonged together? How could he walk away over something so silly, blowing it all out of proportion. Was it really just a way of avoiding telling her that he didn't want her? How could he talk about her life being impossible for him without really saying that she was the one who was impossible? It made her want to break down.

  "Are you still there?"

  Sabrina started. "Yes, sorry, I was just flipping through the article."

  "It got lead story. Hopefully you'll get a few more viewers for your premiere."

  "It's great, Kelly, really."

  "Hey, you want me to come over there? We can drink some wine, watch a movie…"

  "Not right now, thanks. I think I'm going to just take a shower and call it a night. How about this weekend?"

  Kelly coughed. "Um, can't do it. I'm going away."

  "Good for you. Anyone I know?"

  "Who do you think?"

  Sabrina smiled. "I think you and young Mr. Cooper have been spending an awful lot of time together. Is this getting serious?"

  "I don't know about that. It's fun, though, it really is…" Kelly's voice trailed off. "Oh, hell, I'm full of it. I'm in love with him."

  "What?" Sabrina's eyes flew open in shock. "When?"

  "A while ago. I didn't want to say anything while you were going through all this Stef stuff."

  "Forget that. This is huge. I mean, you were the one who never wanted to get involved, and now…"

  "I think people can change," Kelly said defensively. "You, of all people, should know that. It was that night at Cilla's party—it just hit me all at once."

  Sabrina felt cold. "What's that?"

  "That all the differences aren't important because it's what you are as a whole that matters. Once I figured that out, I knew what I needed to do." She cleared her throat in embarrassment. "Anyway, I don't want to go on about it. Listen, I'll call you Sunday night and maybe we can plan something for during the week."

  "Okay. Hey, Kelly?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Don't feel that you can't tell me when something good is going on with you just because of this thing with Stef," Sabrina said gently. "I'm your friend. I want you to be happy."

  "I want you to be happy, too."

  "I will be," Sabrina said. Maybe someday.

  * * *

  Midmorning sunlight streamed in through the dirty window in Sabrina's office as she sat staring into space. It was the day Stef was leaving for Greece. Even now, he was probably heading for the airport to get on a plane and fly away from her, just as he'd already flown out of her life. She looked at her organizer where she'd scribbled his flight information, back in the days when she'd thought she'd be the one to see him off.

  How had things gone so abysmally wrong? It had seemed like they'd finally understood each other, finally reached a place where they could come together. And then to have everything blow up over some idiotic move by Franzen… It was so unfair when it didn't matter.

  It doesn't matter, she could hear Stef's voice. Why couldn't he see that Franzen didn't? Why couldn't he just let it go? Instead,
he'd gotten hurt, gotten furious, torn apart something that was important over an incident that didn't mean anything.

  Except to him.

  Suddenly, she went shiveringly still.

  It didn't matter to her, maybe, but it was crucial to him. It wasn't about him expecting her to relinquish her world and everything she was; it was about him expecting her to respect what was important to him. Respect what they were together.

  All the differences aren't important because it's what you are as a whole that matters, Kelly had said. Sabrina's stomach tightened into a nervous knot. If they kept that clear in their minds, couldn't they use it to bridge the gaps between them? Couldn't they find a way to compromise, whether it was her doing less of the Hollywood whirl or him doing more? She solved problems daily in her job. There had to be a way to solve this one.

  Sudden determination flooded over her. "Laeticia, I've got to leave." She shoved her chair back and stood up.

  Laeticia looked up as Sabrina walked toward the outer office door. "Where are you going?"

  "Greece."

  At that instant, Laeticia proved herself worth a million. She didn't react, didn't waste time with questions, just looked at Sabrina calmly. "Right. What about a ticket?"

  "I'll call my travel agent on the way to the airport. Postpone my appointment with Schuyler on Thursday and tell Gus we'll reschedule. I'll call the new director on my way to the airport." Sabrina gathered up her PalmPilot, notebook and a couple of the most critical files. "I'll call you when I know more about where I'll be and how long I'll be gone."

  "You got a bag or you need me to send things for you?"

  Sabrina smiled, feeling lighter with every passing minute. "What I need is at the airport."

  * * *

  Stef sat in the departure lounge, leafing through his copy of Hot Ticket. It featured Kelly's story, he saw, flipping to the table of contents. That stopped him for a moment, the vivid memory of being on the set knowing that Sabrina was just a step or two away, that she'd be in his bed that night. It didn't matter, he reminded himself. He flipped to the article to test himself, to show himself that he could make it, and her, unimportant.