Girl of My Dreams

by Morgan Mandel

  Maxine, in a Toronado bejeweled, fitted corset sheath, with her finer points almost spilling out, stood poised for a grand entrance. A fortune in diamonds glittered at her neck and ears. She looked magnificent.

  Jillian, bandana wound across her head, with hair spilling down the sides and back, wore a shoulder-baring, white peasant blouse over a gaily colored gypsy skirt. Gleaming gold hoop earrings, matching bracelets and three-inch clear plastic heels completed her ensemble.

  It was time. She’d hoped that somehow Blake would make it here at the last minute, but that was not to be. With or without the producer, the show must go on.

  Maxine’s and Jillian’s tasks were to assume the roles inspired by the costumes especially designed for them.

  Jillian nodded to the band leader, who struck the chords of the show’s theme song. Maxine minced onto the runway in her super-high glittering heels.

  At her entrance, the audience, dazzled by Ms. 44D’s attributes, broke into heavy applause. So far, so good. Jillian could almost feel relief, if she didn’t have so much more to do. It was already her turn.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ARRIVING IN THE middle of Jillian’s performance, Blake took a position at stage right, watching her sway to the strains of a wild Hungarian rhapsody, with a rose clutched between her teeth.

  Sweat sprang to his forehead. Damn, she was sexy.

  His eyes narrowed. His blood pulsed in time with her hips. Suddenly he was a gypsy, snatching his woman away, plunking her down in a vineyard and making love among the grapevines. In his dreams.

  At the end of the runway, Jillian flew through the air, like a guided missile, straight into Troy’s lap. His arms closed around her.

  Miraculously, somehow the rose remained clenched between her teeth. She plucked it out and held it up to wild applause from the audience.

  Troy whispered something in Jillian’s ear. Blake’s collar grew hot. She’d claimed she wasn’t in the contest to snag the billionaire. Huh, that grandstand stunt proved otherwise.

  Yes, he’d asked her to stay in the running as a favor, but not until the bitter end. You could never trust a woman.

  As the familiar refrain began, his thoughts strayed to his mother to reinforce his opinion. However, this time it was different.

  He felt a surge of protectiveness and a lump in his throat at the thought of Barbara Branton lying bravely in her hospital bed awaiting the life-threatening operation. His mother wasn’t perfect, but she was his. She’d more than proven her guts. She’d faced down death and defeated it.

  With the successful operation completed, like the movie queen she was, two days later, she’d sat up grandly in her hospital room, attended by her ever-faithful husband and surrounded by the flowers, cards and trinkets of well-wishers.

  When he was young, Blake had dreamt of a fairytale mother who would read him bedtime stories and tuck him into bed. He’d felt robbed that he couldn’t have one. He hadn’t appreciated Barbara for what she was: a driven fighter, lovable in her own right.

  By wanting the impossible, he’d missed out on what he had. Thank goodness it hadn’t been too late to show he cared.

  “Get back to your show,” she’d told Blake in a tone that broached no argument.

  The doctor had said the crisis was past. Was it safe to leave? There was still too much unspoken between them.

  “You heard me. Get over there. You’ve earned your success. Don’t let anyone steal it from you. Go and fight,” she’d said, eyes glinting.

  She knew him. He was more like her than he’d care to admit. He had to be in on the action, proving his worth. So here he was, trying to establish control, but feeling it slip away. How could he think straight when his heart tripped and his lungs burst at the sight of Jillian?

  “Get a grip. You’re the boss. Do your job,” he muttered.

  He rushed backstage and made it there right before Jillian returned.

  “That was quite a performance,” he said as she stepped away from the curtain.

  She gasped. Her eyes widened.

  “You didn’t expect me?”

  “I was hoping you’d come.” She flashed him a hot gypsy look.

  Calm down, my silly heart, his mind warned. You’re the producer. Of course, she’s happy to see you. She’s after Troy and wants everything to be perfect. You can help her succeed.

  “Get dressed. You’ll be on soon,” he said.

  She placed her hand on his arm. “Wait, what about your mother?”

  “She’s fine now,” he said through gritted teeth, as a shockwave of awareness almost knocked him over.

  “I’m glad for you,” she said. A flicker of sadness flashed in her eyes then disappeared. “I better get ready,” she said, then turned away.

  She’d seemed about to cry. How could his mother’s health affect her that much? It didn’t make sense. Nothing did lately.

  Where’s Maxine? he wondered.

  Oh, boy, there she was, decked out in biker gear, complete with choker collar, black leather vest open to the waist, mini skirt and high, pointed boots. Yeah, she’d look real good riding on the back of a Harley, but might cause a few accidents along the way.

  She minced up to him. “Oh, Mr. Caldwell, I’m so happy to see you. I feel so much better now. You don’t know what I’ve gone through.”

  “Maxine, you’re magnificent. How can Troy resist you? Get onto that runway and knock him dead.”

  She flashed him a coy smile. Yeah, let her think he had the hots for her. She didn’t need to know the reason he rooted for her was to get Jillian eliminated.

  “I’ll do my best, Mr. Caldwell,” Maxine said.

  “You do that,” Blake said, his mind already springing ahead. What would Jillian wear next?

  JILLIAN APPEARED IN costume after costume, each one a bigger torment to Blake. The flesh-colored bustier, coupled with black suede cheek shorts and high top boots, the fitted sheer evening gown that hugged her every curve, the tattered muslin scraps, reminiscent of Raquel Welch in One Million Years B.C.— these designers knew how to make a man crawl.

  Maxine was also part of the show, but he barely noticed her. How could he pay attention to the buxom blonde when all he could think of was what identity Jillian would assume next? After the first few numbers, he’d felt like pulling his shirt out to hide evidence of arousal.

  Finally, it was time for the grand finale: the wedding gowns. Maxine, in a tightly fitted, jeweled and beaded gown with boobs almost spilling out and puffy veil pulled back to afford a view of fake eyelashes and crimson lipstick, marched down the runway clutching a bridal bouquet of red and white roses, looking like a Penthouse parody of what a bride should be.

  Then Jillian stepped out. Blake caught his breath. The audience whooshed.

  Damn, she was the woman he’d written about in his theme song, the girl of every man’s dreams, the perfect bride, an angel from heaven. With a bouquet of baby’s breath and white tea roses in her hands, she floated down the runway in a pristine, scoop-necked, satin gown with a pearl-and diamond-beaded bodice and three-quarter length sleeves. A lace-trimmed veil demurely covered her face in the front and trailed to the floor in the back.

  She bowed before the billionaire’s throne. Troy, dressed as the groom in his black tuxedo and tail, with a lily of the valley boutonniere on his lapel, gazed down intently.

  Standing to the other side of Troy was Maxine in her bosom spilling gown. Troy’s eyes didn’t stray to Maxine’s attributes, but instead focused on the vision in white on the other side of him.

  The stage was set. The drums rolled. It was time for the billionaire to make his choice. The room quieted as the audience awaited the verdict.

  Who was the girl of Troy Langley’s dreams? Who had won the billionaire’s heart and a huge chunk of moolah?

  Blake’s chest tightened. This was it, the culmination of all he’d worked for. This moment could make or break him. All the late nights at the studio. All the early mornings when he’d stumbled
out of bed with only one eye open. It all came down to this.

  Troy rose, surveyed the audience, then sauntered up to Jillian. He gently lifted the veil, pulled it back, and gazed appreciatively at the lovely face. He dipped her down in his arms, as if in a ballroom dance. The ensuing kiss lasted way too long.

  Blake frowned. Something was wrong with this picture. The guy pulling Jillian down and kissing her so thoroughly shouldn’t be Troy, but him.

  Well, at least Jillian didn’t seem to be responding, or had she switched back to her hard-to-get role to make Troy pant for more?

  Hell, it was sure working on Blake. Another second of this interminable lip-lock and he’d have no choice but to rush the stage, break them apart and demonstrate a real kiss.

  Yeah, right. Just what he needed, to screw up this important live broadcast and let the whole television world know he had the hots for his ex-assistant. He had to ride it out, no matter how much the never-ending lip-lock got to him.

  Finally, the kiss was over. Troy stepped away to reveal Jillian’s bright red face. Her lips were bruised. She’d just been kissed by a handsome man with piles of money, and Blake couldn’t do a thing about it.

  The billionaire stalked in the other direction. Was it possible he didn’t want Jillian? It was hard to believe, since what man in his right mind, with apparatus intact, wouldn’t?

  At the billionaire’s approach, Maxine’s extravagant endowments rose up and down, faster and faster, accelerating into a mad rhythm. It was a sight to behold. Troy got an eyeful and seemed to enjoy the view.

  Leaning closer, knee against her knee, he ogled the lady’s attributes, made a fake duck of his mouth towards them, before kissing her wetly on the lips. She responded by puckering like a guppy and almost swallowing his tongue.

  A feeling of relief washed over Blake. There, it was all going to work out. Troy Langley wanted Maxine.

  Troy, deciding he’d had his fill, eased up on the kiss and released the all-too-willing bride from his grasp. Blake frowned. That kiss had not lasted as long as the one between Troy and Jillian. A trickle of unease filtered in, but he shrugged it off. The dip with Jillian had been a grand consolation kiss, nothing more, he told himself. Things would work out.

  On cue, the billionaire stepped forward. Heightening the already unbearable tension, he strutted back and forth between the two prospective brides and inspected them from veil to pointy toe.

  Blake bit his lip as he watched. Troy was taking his sweet time. Why didn’t he get it over with?

  Of course, the billionaire was following directions and drawing the audience in, but the way he did it bugged Blake.

  Troy stopped and turned his sights back to Jillian. Other way, Troy. You want Maxine, Blake lipped. The billionaire, blank in the ESP department, didn’t hear Blake’s unspoken appeal. He moved closer to his target.

  Blake’s fists clenched. His gut told him he would not like would come next.

  The moneyman reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a small, red velvet box in the identical color as his throne. He opened the lid, withdrew a large, sparkling ring and held it up for the audience to see. Oohs and aahs rang out in deference to its magnitude.

  It was huge. And expensive. Blake ought to know. He’d spent twenty thousand dollars from the show’s budget to pay for it.

  At the time, he’d admired its brilliance. That was before. Now, as the handsome billionaire approached Jillian, the ring took on the qualities of an evil talisman.

  Blake swallowed hard as he watched Troy Langley slip the bright diamond onto Jillian’s left ring finger. A sick feeling washed over him. As he fell into a dark chasm, he clutched the stage curtain.

  This was too much like a wedding. It looked final, as if the couple on stage would remain together forever. This shouldn’t happen. Jillian was his, not Troy’s. How ironic that he’d even bought the ring for this farce.

  Thunderous applause broke out. The audience seemed thrilled. At long last, Blake had done it. He’d made his name. He’d proven to the powers-that-be he could churn out a winner. From now on, he’d be respected in his own right, not as Barbara Branton’s son. Yeah, that part was good. The bad part was he couldn’t enjoy it, not when he kept wishing he hadn’t thought up the show in the first place. If he hadn’t needed a contestant, Jillian wouldn’t have volunteered. She wouldn’t be up there right now getting pawed by the billionaire.

  The enormity of what he’d lost hit Blake like a punch in the gut. Damn, he’d never see Jillian again. Her lips wouldn’t turn up in a proud smile when he’d worked his way out of a tough corner. Her eyes wouldn’t sparkle when he came up with a new idea, or darken when someone badmouthed him.

  The old Jillian had been his secret treasure. The one calling herself Veronica was a star, belonging to everyone, and Troy Langley in particular.

  If he could turn back time, he’d do it. What good was fame if he didn’t have anyone to share it with?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CAMERAS ZOOMED. LIGHTS flashed. The world turned a bright white. Jillian clutched the bridal bouquet as if it were a lifeline. This couldn’t be happening. Troy Langley couldn’t have picked her. Didn’t he and Maxine have a special bond? Didn’t their sexual escapades mean anything?

  Apparently not. Instead of returning Maxine’s favors, the billionaire clutched Jillian’s waist. Any minute, his vise-like grip would ruin a priceless gown.

  It wasn’t hers. It didn’t matter.

  Nothing mattered, except extricating herself from this latest fiasco.

  Face awash with tears, Maxine was led off stage by a male model dressed as an usher. It wasn’t right. Jillian didn’t want to be here. Maxine did.

  Thaddeus Larimore thrust a microphone in Troy Langley’s face. “You must have had a hard time deciding,” he said.

  “Very hard,” Troy said with his usual silly leer.

  Not again. Didn’t he ever tire of such lines?

  “How did you choose?” Larimore asked.

  “Well, when I sat down on that throne over there, my mind was wide open. Both contestants had an equal chance. I’d say what really clinched it was when Veronica did that gypsy number and ended up in my lap. That took real imagination. She’s an extraordinary woman.”

  Troy glanced possessively at Jillian. Forcing a smile, she pretended to be pleased. Oh, why had fate stepped in and played that dirty trick on her? She’d tripped over a bump in the carpet and had had no choice but to secure safe landing A.S.A.P.. The closest spot was Troy Langley’s lap. It was either that or the floor.

  She should have picked the floor. Her embarrassment would have been acute, but at least over. Then she wouldn’t be stuck trying to find a way to tell Troy and the rest of the world she didn’t care for him, no matter how rich and handsome he was.

  “And what about you, Ms. Veronica? How does it feel to bag a billionaire?” Larimore asked, swinging his microphone in Jillian’s direction.

  “I’m stunned. I thought for sure he’d pick Maxine,” she said. That was an understatement.

  “There, you see what I mean. Veronica has no ego. She’s one special woman.” Troy gave her a quick hug.

  Trying not to flinch, Jillian smiled tentatively. She was doomed. No matter what she said or did, she was a heroine in Troy’s eyes.

  “Now that that’s settled, Veronica and my mother will get together to do all those things women like doing to plan a wedding,” Troy said.

  Jillian almost fell over. Troy grabbed for her. “Are you all right, my dear?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she said shakily. He had to be joking. His mother was a society woman. She couldn’t be in favor of the way he’d chosen a bride.

  Jillian snuck a glance at Troy. His demeanor was serious, as if he believed what he’d said. He actually expected her to marry him.

  “Can you give me a scoop? When’s the lucky day?” Larimore asked.

  “Very soon. I’ve waited long enough as it is,” Troy said.

&n
bsp; “Will it be on television?” Larimore said.

  “No, we’ll want it private, won’t we, darling?” Troy said, with a warm smile to Jillian.

  She chose to ignore it. Why lead him on? “Wedding ceremonies are sacred and special. Mine will definitely be in a church and not on television,” Jillian said. And with a different groom, she added to herself.

  “You are so right,” Troy said, only hearing what she’d said aloud.

  “Ah, isn’t love grand? It’s obvious that you, Troy Langley, by appearing in this series, have truly discovered the girl of your dreams. Let’s give a big hand to the happy couple,” Larimore said.

  Applause burst out and built to a crescendo. The theme song played. More bright light blinded Jillian.

  The show was a hit. That was good. She was stuck. That was bad. She wanted to run, find a quiet corner and plan her next move, but instead forced herself to stand front and center, smiling her best smile. Could anyone tell she wasn’t happy? Would anyone believe she didn’t want to marry a billionaire? She could be rich for life. Was she crazy?

  “And now, let’s bring our fine producer up here to join the happy couple. Everybody, give it up for Blake Caldwell, the man who made this show possible,” Larimore said.

  Face set in a perfunctory grin, Blake stepped onto the stage. Jillian met his eyes and saw coldness. Startled, she glanced away.

  She’d seen that look before. It meant he was hurting. Why? His dream had come true. He had his hit. He should be over the moon with happiness.

  Larimore thrust the microphone into Blake’s face. “And what do you think, Mr. Caldwell? Did Troy Langley make the right choice?”

  Jillian kept her eyes averted from Blake. What would he say?

  Before he could answer, someone shouted, “I told you it was fixed.”

  A figure in a low cut, silver lamé gown with a huge slit up the side rushed onto the stage before security could catch her. She reached under her skirt and withdrew a long, shiny object from a black lace garter. The audience gasped as one.