On the Edge

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “When I was eight.”

  Blue hadn’t known that. And he knew about the mole on the left side of her breast. It just reinforced that he was pond scum.

  “I’m so sorry,” Marcus said. “Your dad must be quite a man to have raised you all by himself. He’s done a great job.”

  Blue decided to withhold his opinion until after this mini-date.

  “If I wasn’t an heiress, how would that change your opinion of me?”

  “I don’t think it would. You’re sweet and pretty and kind. You have a good heart. That wouldn’t change.”

  There was something authentic and farm-boyish about Marcus. He and Jenny exchanged smiles.

  “I’d like to have dinner with you. Without the cameras,” Jenny announced.

  Blue wanted to do an end-zone victory dance, throw the football into the turf and release some of the pressure to perform.

  He caught sight of Maddy standing behind the camera. She was smiling at him. Take me, that smile said. Quickly, that smile said. She was bursting with energy that she had no outlet for, the same as the night Ulani had decked Professor Quinby.

  He took a step toward her, starting to grin.

  And then Maddy’s smile faded, and she walked out.

  Blue opened the door to his father’s house, keyed in the alarm code and stood in the doorway. The house had never felt empty before. It had always been loud, filled with the noise of Dooley’s laughter or a television tuned to a gossip show.

  True to the stipulations of the will, Amber hadn’t changed a thing in the house. The white shag carpet, the black club chairs, the gold marbled mirror tiles on the wall – all screamed seventies time warp.

  A car drove by, reminding Blue that he was in the heart of paparazzi territory. Tom Cruise lived up the road. The Beckhams lived around the corner.

  He closed the door behind him with a click and flipped on the lights.

  You’d think that when the keys to your empire were hanging on your wall, you’d put them in a dark cubby. Not Dooley. He had spotlights on them.

  His father had etched his secrets in colored pencil drawings of various gardens. Each featuring a different flower or plant and a cutaway of the vegetation’s roots. There were five along the entryway that spanned the living room. Another five spanned one side of the hallway. A solitary picture hung on the wall in Dooley’s office and one unframed drawing sat on the floor beneath the window. His desk blotter was covered in doodles – leaves, flowers, dogs, beaches. Scribbles Blue couldn’t decipher.

  He took the unframed picture from the floor and sat at his father’s desk. Only that felt weird, so he took the picture into the kitchen, and sat at the kitchen table.

  The word Discovery was etched across the bodies of three naked women who made up the roots of several flowering vines. His fingers traced the stalks: remove blinders, face the abyss, lessons learned. His name was on a purple petal of the lessons learned stem.

  “Show me your list,” Dooley had said at this very table one morning.

  Twelve year old Blue held up a binder page, squinting because of the black eye – the result of Dooley’s vengeful ex-girlfriend T-boning them. “The good things I learned from Terry Palmer crashing her car into us.” Blue cleared his throat. “People lie to the ones they love so they don’t get hurt. Hurt women can hurt somebody. Women my dad dumps are dangerous. Don’t fall in love – ”

  “Blue.” His dad’s weary sigh.

  “What?” There was a double dose of pre-teen angst in Blue’s voice. And with good reason, he couldn’t shake the slow-mo replay of that woman’s triumphant face as she smashed her car into theirs.

  “I was hoping you’d discover something about yourself. Maybe even about forgiveness.”

  “Forgive her for nearly killing us? Why? You dumped her, which means I’m never seeing her again. That’s the way you do it, right?”

  His father rubbed a hand over his face. “Just because I stopped dating her doesn’t mean she’s out of our lives. There are situations…and repercussions…”

  “We’ll never see her again.” That’s the way it worked.

  “Women and their…things…have a way of turning up again. Making a list of the good to come out of a bad situation helps you forgive. That’s the lesson here.”

  Blue shook his head, adamant. “I want to remember so I won’t get T-boned in the future.”

  He’d learned his lesson that day. He’d learned it so well, that he’d applied it to his own personal life – love women briefly, and leave before things got dangerous. There’d been no forgiveness for the woman who used her car like a weapon. But why was his name and lesson learned on Discovery? Why not on Forgiveness, as his father had implied?

  He went into the hall and studied Forgiveness. The picture had no flowers, only ivy. Lessons Learned was written on a shoot writhing up from the thick plant’s root – a pregnant woman. Blue’s name was on a leaf that was brown and curled in on itself.

  So his father’s methods could be applied to different areas of personal growth. Blue retrieved a notepad from his father’s office and started writing down the different areas of growth his father had depicted: Self-esteem, Control, Choice, Love, Sexuality, Discovery, Ego, Creativity, Reinvention, Happiness, Courage and Forgiveness.

  Beneath each area of growth, he jotted down the versions of tough love or technique his father had used. He was left with a list of Dooley’s secrets. The ones with his name jarred memories, some more painful than others. And he remembered the discipline of a few of his sisters’ lessons as well.

  Which was all academic, because there was no handbook on how to help people grow. His father had always been creative and had probably just come up with this shit on the fly. How had he known what people needed?

  Blue had been lucky with Jenny. He’d seen right away she needed to grow up. After all, he’d had Cora and her example of hell being unable to spend the money you’d taken for granted.

  Portia was on deck for filming tomorrow. Could she use a dose of confidence? Courage? Happiness?

  He didn’t know. If he chose one, he’d be able to narrow down the possibilities his dad had created to incite growth. But what if he chose poorly?

  He had less than twenty-four hours to figure it out. He tapped his pen, feeling a wisp of memory return. He’d told Maddy something about Portia in his wrap-up portion of the interviews they filmed last week. Something about Portia needing to come out of her shell and take chances. She needed to discover her potential.

  “Discovery it is.”

  www.PlayboyAvengers.com

  Our Latest Revenge

  We found our man doing his relationship counseling at a wrestling match. With those quick reflexes, wouldn’t you put your life in his hands?

  (link to YouTube video)

  Chapter 29

  “I don’t know how they got the film,” Maddy told Blue the morning the Avengers posted Ulani’s video. The same morning they were to film Portia’s pre-date coaching session. Days after she’d painfully cut her role in his life to producer. “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Maddy, it’s happened twice. You’re the only one with the film.” He stared at her. She couldn’t read his expression. It panicked her. She’d always been able to read his expression.

  He’d trusted her with his body, his car, his address, and his fears. He’d trusted her with those, but he couldn’t seem to trust her not to betray him. Not forever.

  She shouldn’t care. It didn’t matter what he thought of her. He’d told her he wasn’t a trained life coach, that he could never follow his father’s principles. And then he’d shown up for filming and done just that. Which made her simultaneously proud and annoyed and confused. And the videos…If she hadn’t already broken it off with Blue, she might have believed someone was trying to set her up.

  When it was time to film, Blue walked into his office and faced Portia, who was beautiful, composed and serene. Her hair was in a 1940s updo. Her lipstick a deep red
. Skinny jeans, knee-high boots, and a navy blue top that floated over her pink, unblemished skin. She was a vision.

  No wonder Portia lasted several weeks with Blue and Maddy had been dumped after two nights.

  Get a grip, Maddy. Perspective. Dreams. Poppa Bert’s albums.

  “Do you remember where we met?” Blue began.

  “We met at a red carpet event. You were wearing a tuxedo and asked me if you could get me a drink.” Portia’s smile was a thing of beauty.

  “What was going through your mind at the time, Portia?” Blue asked in his father’s voice.

  “I was wondering why no one on my staff realized I was desperate for a drink.” Portia laughed. It was a beautiful sound, like angels.

  “What do you think was going through my mind?” Blue. So stiff, apparently unaffected by angels. Or maybe he was doing a slow burn about Maddy’s supposed betrayal.

  Portia blinked and fidgeted. It was the first time Maddy had seen the actress thrown.

  “You might have been thinking. Oh, my God. It’s Portia Francis. I used to jerk off to her picture in high school.” Her laugh was no longer heavenly. It was bitter and human.

  “Was I?”

  “No.” She studied her manicure. “You’re not as crude as that.”

  “What was I thinking then?”

  “You were probably wondering why I was there alone and trying to work up a casual line that would get me interested in you.”

  “With the goal of…”

  “Sleeping with you, of course. Do you ever have any other goal when it comes to women?”

  Blue’s gaze drifted to Maddy, and then quickly away. He swallowed. “So we walked over to the bar and talked over drinks. And then what?”

  “You gave me your card. Our hands touched.” Portia’s smile returned. “My handlers were nervous because they were calling us inside for the event. And all I could think of was that I wanted to find a limo outside and have you touch me again.”

  Maddy thought she might be sick. She’d expected Kaya’s interview to be the most painful. She was wrong. She couldn’t hate Portia. She was too nice. Too perfect.

  “What would your fans have said if they saw us get into a limo together that night?”

  Portia’s face stiffened with resignation. Clearly she didn’t want to be reminded of her fans and their expectations. “They would have thought I was tossing away everything I’d built for a few quick moments of pleasure. They might have thought that I was doing drugs. This is a brutal business. I’ve cultivated my image for years.” Her gaze dropped to the floor, her voice along with it. “And I still can’t get work.”

  “How about you? Would you have been disappointed?”

  “In myself? Hell, yes. I’m disappointed that I ever slept with you. You and I should have been friends or business associates.”

  And if the viewers believed that...

  Maddy resisted rolling her eyes.

  Blue’s smile was rueful. “And yet you joined a club to get some kind of revenge on me. How do you think that made me feel?”

  Portia squirmed. Good for Blue. “Betrayed.”

  A bit of the old Blue returned. In his smile. In his deep, expressive voice. “I’m sorry about your shoes, Portia. Mr. Jiggles was my father’s dog and because of that, I can’t get rid of him.”

  “I know,” she said softly.

  “Portia, you need to understand that life isn’t about appearances and image,” Blue said. “You’ve been packaged since you were a child – styled, made-up, coiffed. It’s time the world saw the real you.”

  Portia’s sky blue eyes darkened with panic. “What are you saying?”

  “As your relationship coach, I’m encouraging you to try new things, take risks, come out of your shell, discover yourself. We’ll start with a new hairstyle.”

  “What?” The actress clutched the arms of her chair.

  Blue signaled Cora to open the office door. A woman entered. She wore a plastic apron, and carried a plastic caddy full of hair supplies, scissors, and a tiger-striped drape.

  “I can’t. My fans…”

  “Your fans are ready for you to grow and change. You’ve been hiding behind that hairstyle for three years, ever since your last successful role – a nurse in World War II.”

  “But…But…”

  Blue’s voice hardened. “You signed an agreement. Legally, you’re bound to do whatever I say to provide you with character growth so you can achieve a happy relationship.”

  “I hate you,” Portia whispered. She glanced back at Cora. “I hate you, too.”

  Cora stayed in the room while they cut Portia’s hair. It was the least she could do for her former best friend.

  “I hate you,” Portia kept repeating.

  Since Blue had left the room, Cora knew Portia was talking to her. She also knew Portia wanted to say, “I hate you, bitch.” But since Maddy kept on filming, Portia wasn’t going to get bleeped. Unlike other child stars who dressed like pole dancers and cussed like sailors to shed their goody-girl image, Portia knew the value of good will. She nurtured it until it gleamed.

  Blond locks of hair littered the carpet.

  Cora felt sick to her stomach. She took no pleasure from Portia’s pain, even though the actress had been the one to detonate their friendship.

  I guess I’m not such a bitch, after all.

  She came around the desk and sat in Blue’s chair, directly across from Portia. “You’re going to look fantastic.”

  Portia pressed her lips together, the word held back was clearly bitch.

  The stylist cut Portia’s hair to shoulder length, curled it loosely, and held the individual curls with pomade. Portia looked less like a cool bitch and more like someone you’d want to be friends with.

  Cora almost told her Cal would love the look, but Portia wouldn’t appreciate her opinion.

  When the stylist was done and a mirror produced, Portia took one look and sniffed back tears.

  “Can you give us a minute?” Cora asked Maddy. She waited until the camera crew left. “Make sure your microphone is off.”

  Portia sniffed again, tossing the mic on the desk. “I didn’t want to look like this! You did this to me, just like you sabotaged me with Cal.”

  “I never said anything to Cal about you.”

  She did the breath-catching, double sniff. “Really? If you’re lying to me…”

  “We’ve known each other a long time. We may argue, but neither one of us has very many friends.” Cora swallowed back her pride. “You can’t enjoy being Kaya’s sidekick. Can’t we be friends again?”

  “You want to be friends? You think I could ever trust you again?” Her voice escalated to a near shriek.

  “Yes.” As much as one bitch could trust another.

  “Prove it.”

  And that’s when Cora remembered overhearing Maddy asking Gemma to lock up Dave’s film of Blue in the Flash costume. Her brother was strong. Portia was weak. This would help her heal. He’d understand. Someday.

  Because of their bachelors’ busy schedules, they’d arranged a lunch for Portia’s mini-dates.

  Larry was happy. He’d be home for dinner with his family. Maddy was happy. She was going to work the night shift at the bar. It was hard working there and not expect to see Blue walk in during her shift. Not that he’d ever show up again. The second leaked video had created an even larger rift between them.

  Cora opened the dining room door at Javier’s for their first bachelor. He was around the same age as Portia, perhaps a little older. There the similarities ended. His dark hair was straggly. He was a little pudgy around the middle. His clothes were faded with age. The visual contrast alone was great TV. But as a serious contender for Portia’s heart?

  Maddy told Blue with a look that she doubted his choice. Blue made a small gesture with his hand that told her to be patient.

  “I’m Harry West, president of the local chapter of the Portia Francis Fan Club. In case you don’t remember, we�
�ve met before.” And then he gasped. “Oh, my God. You cut your hair. Please don’t tell me you’re going to be making R-rated movies now. It always starts with the hair. And then it moves to the clothes. And then the drugs, thefts, tattoos and – ”

  “It’s nice to see you again, Harry. Please, sit down,” Portia said through an icy mask. When he didn’t move, she added, “I’m clean and sober and unemployed.”

  “Thank heavens. I guess you haven’t violated my trust, so…” He put one hand over his heart and said, “I pledge allegiance as a fan to Portia Francis of America. And to her purity, I will stand true, until bad acting or drug addiction do we part.”

  “Thank you.” Portia’s smile never wavered.

  “This is like a dream come true for me,” Harry said. “Let me get a picture.” He trundled to the other side of the table, put his chin on Portia’s shoulder and snapped a shot. He checked the display. “This is perfect for our next newsletter.”

  “Harry, sit down.” There was an edge of steel in Portia’s voice. Her face was paler than its usual porcelain.

  Finally.

  Here was the emotion that explained Portia’s involvement with the Avengers. Maddy had only seen Portia in her ethereal element, where things happened around her, not to her. The cutting of her hair had seemed to nearly break the actress, making her seem all the more fragile. The president of her fan club brought out Portia’s resolve.

  Harry backed up, took a picture of Portia alone, and then did as she asked.

  Portia flipped over the index card Blue had given her earlier. She took several deep breaths before she spoke. “Do you want to have children someday?”

  “What?” Harry looked perplexed. “I don’t have time for kids. I manage your fan club, including the blog, your unofficial Facebook and Twitter pages, and a website. I have to be online all the time to post the latest news.”

  Harry sounded sick – almost stalker sick. That’s when Maddy noticed Blue wasn’t leaning against the wall. He stood at the ready, prepared to jump in if Harry did anything crazy.