“You’ve already tried to tell Trip Carver,” I said calmly. “And your calls didn’t even make it through.”
This was total guesswork on my part, but the confirmation was clear on the catty consultant’s dumbstruck face.
Thank you, Greg, I thought. You were right not to put her calls through.
I put my hand on her shoulder consolingly. All I touched was shoulder pad.
“Look,” I said, “I can’t fire you, but I can definitely make your whole life miserable. Go home. Take a bubble bath. Look for a new job. Go ruin someone else’s show. You’re not going to ruin mine.”
And with that, I simply walked away.
An exit, my mother always said, was as important as any entrance. Usually better because you were nearly guaranteed applause.
The editing bays were in their own little cavern in the basement of the production office building. Fortunately, by this time on a Friday, most of the office staff had gone home. It was empty except for Tamika, who sat near reception reading American Cinematographer. She stood up as soon as I arrived.
“Are we a go?” she asked.
I held up the tape as a response.
“I watched the feed today—the dailies look great,” she said supportively.
“Stay out here and wait for the videotapes to arrive from the set. Don’t let anyone back there,” I told her.
“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” she said with a salute and a click of her heels.
I slunk down the corridor, hoping to avoid any stragglers coming out of the copy room.
I made it to the edit suite and found Gil hard at work on his own movie.
“Evening, Gil,” I said cheerily.
“Hi there, Mallory, how’s it hangin’?” he drawled, trying to block the screen.
“Hard at work on company time?” I asked. This was too easy; I wouldn’t even need the blackmail.
“Yeah, and then I’m driving up to Monterey tonight to go camping with some pals from Burning Man.”
“That sounds like fun. But you should plan on getting a late start,” I said.
“Huh?”
“I’m sorry to do this, Gil, I really am. But I think you’re going to have to work overtime tonight.”
Much to my surprise, Gil took the whole thing in stride. If anything, he was impressed with my resourcefulness. He even made a couple of comments saying how much he was groovin’ on the new scenes.
We had just finished splicing in the last scene and Tamika was already packing up her bag when my phone rang. It was a restricted number. Usually I don’t answer unlisted calls. But something told me I had better pick it up.
“Hello?” I said with forced breeziness. But the breeze completely stopped when I heard who was calling.
“What is it?” Tamika asked with alarm when I hung up.
I gulped. I couldn’t believe this was really happening.
“Keith’s in jail,” I said. “Richard had him arrested for attempted kidnapping.”
It took Tamika and me over an hour and a half to get to the Rancho Cucamonga police station in Friday traffic.
I had never been in a real police station before, only the set that had passed for both the police station and the post office in Good As Gold. Nothing quite prepares you for the dank stench of the law. I went to the officer sitting behind a sign that read Inquiries and asked for Keith.
The desk sergeant looked up at me and said, “You mean the kidnapper?”
“He’s not a kidnapper!” I pleaded. “I need to see him. He’s my boyfriend.”
“Oh, well, then. I didn’t realize he was your boyfriend. In that case, he still won’t be available until he’s arraigned Monday morning.”
“Monday morning?!” I was flabbergasted. “Don’t you see? This has all been a terrible, terrible mistake. Is it bail money you want? Because I have credit cards and I’m not afraid to use them.”
“I wondered how long it would take for you to show your scheming face,” a voice said from behind me.
“Excuse me,” I said to the officer before turning around to face Richard.
He was sitting in a plastic bucket seat with a tattered issue of Inland Empire Living in his lap. His eyes looked a bit heavy.
“Keith has nothing to do with this,” I told him. “Drop the charges, or whatever you have to do.”
“Ha!” he cackled. “Hi, Tamika, nice of you to turn this wanted woman in. I see a promotion in your future.”
“What are you talking about, Richard?” I fumed.
He held up a can of Diet Coke with one hand. Then he held out a few semi-dissolved sleeping pills in the other.
“I’d recognize your mother’s generic Mexican pills anywhere. And any fool knows that it takes exactly twenty-six minutes for them to dissolve in soda.”
I started to back away, unsure of what he was threatening.
“I know you tried to drug me, Mallory. And if you bothered to watch Law and Order, you’d know that makes you part of the conspiracy to commit kidnapping. A felony in this state.”
Tamika gasped. I looked over to her and then back at Richard and said, “You’re insane if you think that’ll stick.”
“That’s not my problem. It’s yours. Officer! Arrest this girl!” Richard shouted.
That’s when I felt the cold, hard kiss of handcuffs on my wrists.
The next thirty minutes were possibly the longest thirty minutes I have ever spent staring at a cinder block wall painted yellow. Occasionally, through the little Plexiglas window of my holding cell, I would see another person being led through the halls. They all seemed drunk.
Then, suddenly, a female officer whose tag read Joan opened the cell door.
“You’re gettin’ moved,” she said sternly. This was not a pleasant woman. I suppose I couldn’t blame her. There was no way for her to realize this was all a big misunderstanding and we really hadn’t meant any harm. All we were trying to do was sabotage a major network television program, not kill or kidnap anyone. Surely she’d see the humor in that.
Joan led me through a couple of other hallways via doors that locked on both sides. We spent more time waiting for her to find the right key than we did walking. Finally, we ended up outside a more traditional kind of cell, the kind with bars that you can rattle a can on. She threw me into one of two cells. Keith was in the other.
“Keith!” I exclaimed upon seeing him.
“Mallory!” he said, shocked to see me in handcuffs. As soon as I was unshackled, I ran to him and we kissed through the bars.
“No kissing!” Joan hollered.
We separated immediately like frightened alley cats.
He held up his hand and said, “To revolution.”
“And anarchy …,” I said feebly.
“Why were you arrested?” he asked.
“I’m so sorry—it’s all my fault,” I sobbed.
Joan hollered again, “No talking!”
We sat in silence for the next ten minutes, staring at each other from our matching benches. We spent the time watching the sliver of sunlight crawl across the floor. All I could think about was how much trouble I’d gotten Keith into.
You went to jail for me, I thought. Now I can never dump you. Ever.
Mercifully, Joan walked out through a door, telling us she’d be right back. We decided to risk talking.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“It was his cell phone,” he told me. “We forgot about his cell phone. He was sleeping for some of the time. And other times I tried to drive places where there wasn’t any reception. But after a while, he figured out something was wrong, and that I wasn’t just lost. He started to yell at me—I don’t know how you can stand it—and then finally he called the cops and we were pulled over. I didn’t know what to say. I told him you were playing a prank—I didn’t tell him about the show, I promise.”
“Oh, Keith, that doesn’t matter,” I said. “What matters is that we get out of here. Have I happened to mention how sorry I am?”
<
br /> He smiled. “Don’t be. It was fun—well, until the cops showed up.”
The door opened, and Joan returned … this time with Richard.
“I’d like to speak with them alone if you don’t mind,” he said to Joan.
Strangely, she agreed and left the three of us alone. I thought that was one of those things that only happened in soap operas, like the time my mother confronted the man who’d tried to strangle her with a necktie and got him to confess to being her supposedly dead evil ex-husband with a new face (and body) mysteriously ten years younger. Only this time was going to be different. I wasn’t going to confess to anything.
“We’re not saying anything to you or anyone else until we have a chance to speak to a lawyer,” I told him bluntly.
Richard just smiled. “It’s all right, princess. I can do the talking for a while. You see, Tamika already appealed to my sense of mercy and told me everything. Now that I have phone service again, I was able to check in with some of our friends—Kadir, Gil, Trip. I also had the most illuminating voice mails from Alexis and Frieda Weiner.”
He paused to study my reaction. I tried to stay calm, but I’m sure my real feelings were peeking through.
Richard walked over to the bars, put one hand on them, and leaned in.
“I know all about your little escapade this afternoon,” he said. “Your resourcefulness and leadership continue to impress me, but don’t you think that this time they’ve led you straight off a cliff?”
I sighed and turned away. “I had no choice, Richard.”
“You have nothing but choices, Mallory. And I’m about to give you one more. You give me total control of the show from here on out and I, in turn, will drop the charges against you and your misguided boyfriend.”
“Wh-what?” I stammered. I was still in shock from the events of the previous few hours.
“You heard me. I want the keys to Deception Pass, and in exchange I will give you two your freedom. It’s really a very good deal.”
“Don’t do it, Mallory. We can get lawyers,” Keith said.
It was true. We could afford lawyers. Good lawyers, even. But what was the point? Richard had beaten me at my own game. I was outmaneuvered and backed into a corner. I might have choices, but none of them were good. There was one thing I could save right now: Keith’s reputation. Mine was gone. He certainly didn’t need an arrest for kidnapping on his application to Stanford.
I looked at the challenge in Richard’s eyes. He was waiting for my answer.
And I realized what it had to be.
I had to give him the answer he wanted.
“No,” I said.
He grinned and raised an eyebrow.
“No?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “I love this show. As you can see, I will do anything for this show. You already have one set of keys to Deception Pass. But I’m keeping my set.”
“Really?” Richard challenged.
“Really,” I said from behind bars. “Plus, the last thing you want is for me to be arrested. There isn’t a paper or blog in America that won’t carry the story. And although I know you think there’s no such thing as bad publicity, deep down you know there is. Yeah, a scandal will get people to tune in—but only for a week. You want this show to last for years. And if you and I get into a tabloid fight, you know that I will play the little innocent princess card and you will become the big bad producer. I’m a young, somewhat attractive daughter of a much-loved soap star. You’re a suit. Who do you think they’ll side with, Richard? What makes a better story?”
“Mallory, wait!” Keith tried to interrupt.
“No, no,” Richard said. “I’m enjoying this. Although you’d have such better footing on your higher ground if you hadn’t tried to kidnap and kill me.”
“I wasn’t trying to kill you!”
“You have your spin, I have mine.” Richard turned away from the bars, opened the door, and ushered Joan the police officer back into the room.
Her hand was on her pistol.
“I want one thing clear,” Richard said to me. “While I certainly underestimated you, you also underestimated me. Massively underestimated me. Yes, I was tired of Dallas’s tantrums and was ready to kill his character off. But if you changed your mind, you should have told me. We all have our secrets, Mallory—lord knows I’m keeping one or two myself—but there comes a time to share them. That’s judgment, Mallory. And while you’ve shown some excellent skills today, judgment isn’t particularly one of them.
“So I talked to Kadir and Gil, and, under a bit of duress, Trip’s assistant managed to e-mail me some of the footage. You know what, Mallory? Everyone’s in agreement. It’s great television. Absolutely great television. Whatever you did on the set today, you did right. Dallas and the others have never been so good. Finally, they’re feeling it.”
Even behind bars, this was a huge relief to me.
Richard looked at me and Keith. “So, Bonnie and Clyde, did you ever watch my show Three-Alarm Fire?”
“No,” I said flatly.
“Yeah!” Keith exclaimed.
“Now, doesn’t Joan here look a little familiar to you?”
Keith stared at her, then smiled for the first time all night.
“She was the cop who’d always show up at the scene,” he said.
Richard nodded. “Yes, Joan was one of our advisors, and every now and then, we’d have a part for her. Just like today.”
It took a moment for me to process this.
“So she’s not really a cop?”
Richard laughed. “No, she’s very much a cop. And this is very much a police station. And you’re very much arrested.”
All my hopes deflated.
“But,” Richard continued, “I bet with a good word from me, it’ll be like this never happened.”
Joan moved her hand away from her pistol and nodded.
“I pledge to stop underestimating you if you promise to stop underestimating me,” Richard said, offering his hand through the bars.
I shook it.
“You have yourself a deal,” I said.
My mother was waiting for me the moment I walked in the door.
“That was quite a stunt you pulled,” she said. “Richard told me everything!”
“It’s late,” I said. “I’m tired.”
“My own daughter, a felon!”
“I’m not a felon.”
“You’re lucky Richard is so darling. I would have let you stay there for a week.”
“Thanks, Mother.”
She was wearing one of those nightgowns that could double as a ball gown, as if a gentleman caller might stop in at any moment. But instead of Tom, Brick, or Harry, all she had was me.
“You’re very lucky it was Gina’s birthday today,” she went on. “Otherwise, I might have smelled out your unholy machinations!”
“Mom. Please.” I really needed sleep. Richard and I were going to spend the whole weekend polishing the show.
“Did you think for one moment about what it would have meant to my reputation if you’d been caught? Did you think for one small second about how your script changes affect my role?”
“No,” I told her honestly. “You didn’t cross my mind at all.”
She nodded and looked satisfied, although I wasn’t sure what exact point she’d just proven to herself.
“The poison apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” she said. And then she surprised me by adding, “You’re just like your father.”
This was her exit line, and she made the most of it.
My father. My unknown father.
She’d definitely managed to leave me speechless.
We watched the first episode so many times that weekend that I stopped being able to see it with any kind of objectivity. Did it suck? Was it great? I couldn’t tell. Richard called in the cast and crew so we could tweak the rest of the week’s episodes in line with the premiere. Mostly, this involved Francesca and Dallas, who were both willi
ng to do anything we asked.
“This is really working,” Francesca admitted to me between takes on Saturday. “We’ve finally hit the mark.”
Dallas, Francesca, Alexis, and Javier were all flying out to New York on Sunday night so they could do the morning shows on Monday.
When the taping was done, Dallas gave me a hug goodbye. And I had to wonder if he’d hugged me only because Javier had hugged me right before him. But something told me it meant a little bit more. Or was that just wishful thinking?
I holed myself up in the editing room with Richard and Gil, then needed a break and went down to the set. Nobody else was around—it was just me and Deception Pass.
For a moment—just a single moment—I allowed myself to think it:
All of this exists because of me.
Everything I was seeing, everything I was walking through, had started off in my head. The guidance office. The picnic area. Ryan’s house. Sarah’s bedroom.
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” a voice asked.
I turned around, and there was Dallas, stepping out of the shadows.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane?” I asked.
“The car’s picking me up here,” he answered. “I just wanted to stop by one more time, to see it all before it becomes real.”
“You just wanted one more walk on the set?”
“And I wanted to see you. To wish you luck.”
“Wish us luck,” I said.
“That, too.”
We were standing in the middle of the set, midway between Jacqueline’s kitchen and the garage where Ryan worked.
“Mallory …,” he said, leaning closer in the shadows.
“What?” I asked.
“Thank you.”
Someone should have yelled, “CUT!” The cameras should have stopped. The next scene should have been called.
But this wasn’t a show. This was two people and their closeness. This was so many things unspoken, and a few things said.
He was so beautiful at that moment.
And in his eyes, I was beautiful, too.
“Thank you for saving me from myself,” he whispered.
“Right now you’re going to have to save me from myself,” I whispered back.
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