by Jayne Denker
“And a fair share of the men too. Don’t be hetero-centric.”
Mason laughed softly and kissed my shoulder. “Noted.”
I looked up at him. “Hey, about the other day—you kind of hinted that . . . you don’t think Alex and I—?”
To my surprise, instead of denying it outright, he shrugged, silent.
I put the laptop aside and rolled over to face him. “Why would you think that?”
“Observation.”
“What?”
With one of his half-smiles, he said, “Faith, don’t take this the wrong way, but you can be kind of . . . transparent.”
“What! I have an excellent poker face.”
“No, you don’t. Not to me, anyway.”
“Yeah, well, you’re freaky.”
“Maybe so. But it was pretty obvious, even from the first time you came barging into the theater to see Alex, that there was something more between the two of you than you admitted to.”
“I don’t barge. And there is absolutely nothing between me and Alex.”
“And never was?”
I hesitated. “I . . . may have been attracted to him at one point a long time ago. I can’t change the past; all I can do is own up to it and then move forward. And that forward includes you—just you.”
“You two dated?”
“No.” I didn’t think a miserable evening of pizza and awkward conversation that culminated with my gnawing on the side of Alex’s head like a zombie counted as a date.
“And what about now?”
“I just told you, I’m not—”
“Not you. Him. How he feels about you.”
I laughed. “Oh, I doubt that very much.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself.”
“That’s incredibly sweet. But I’m positive you’re way off base. Alex never had any interest in me, and he doesn’t now. And even if he did, I wouldn’t care, because I have you.” I kissed him nice and deep, for a long time, for emphasis. “Besides,” I added, as I started to pull his shirt off, “Alex is with Kaylie.”
“What?”
The bewildered, hit-in-the-back-of-the-head-with-a-Frisbee look on his face made me laugh. “You never noticed?”
“I don’t pay attention to my students’ love lives.”
“You are missing out on so much drama.”
He helped me get his shirt over his head. “That’s what I was aiming for. So . . . Kaylie and Alex? Really? Is that wise?”
I shrugged. “I don’t think so. And I told her as much.”
“Knowing Kaylie, that’ll make her go and do what you told her not to.”
“She does seem to be that kind of a person.”
“She’s going to get hurt, isn’t she?”
“Maybe not. Alex could very well be committed to her. It’s possible.”
“Alex?”
“I know,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“And you don’t think he’s going to lose interest—whether he goes back to L.A. or not?”
“He might stick with her,” I said, trying not to think about all the women he’d gone through in the years I’d known him. “There’s a first time for everything. Maybe Kaylie is the one who . . .”
“Please don’t say ‘tames him.’”
“I won’t, if you shut up about Kaylie and Alex’s love life and kiss me instead.”
* * *
“Okay, hit me.”
“Sure you want to open up the floor that way?”
“Professor Mitchell,” I reprimanded him pertly. “Who’s in charge today?”
He gave me a nod from the back of the room, where he was leaning on the window ledge. “I get the feeling you’re in charge every day, Ms. Sinclair.”
The students looked back and forth between us with great interest. Time to make them focus before they decided to grill me about something other than today’s topic.
“Okay, did everyone watch the episode of Modern Women, ‘Raine Over Me,’ that Professor Mitchell assigned on Monday?” Everyone nodded. “Great. Okay, go ahead—ask me anything. About the episode,” I reminded them, with a significant look at Mason. I just couldn’t seem to manage to keep my eyes off him. He nodded approvingly.
Alice sat forward. “So . . . why did Raine make that big, long speech?”
“The one in Act III?”
“Yeah. Where she told off Ariel and Marcel?”
“Why do you ask?” I knew the answer, but I wanted Alice to explain why it caught her attention.
“Well, because it was . . . kind of long, for the type of scripts you usually write. And I was wondering if you thought that was kind of risky to do.”
“You mean in case we lost viewers’ interest?”
“Yeah.”
“Good question. It was a risk, but it was one I was willing to take. At that point in the story, it was time for Raine to make her positions clear—and it was also time to show that she wasn’t afraid of Marcel. I wanted to make sure that her speech was long enough to get her points across, but not so long that people paused the DVR and wandered off to raid the fridge. It was important to keep viewers there, right then, for the whole thing. To that end, I tried to add enough humor, as well as enough of a variation in tone, to keep viewers’ attention. Now, my question for you is, did it work?”
“I think so,” Alice said.
“Okay, what about everybody else?”
“I wandered off to raid the fridge,” Michael rumbled, slouching in his seat, his long legs all over the place, like he was intent on taking up as much space as possible.
“You did?”
“Yeah. But I brought my tablet with me.”
“So you kept watching.”
“Yeah. I liked it.”
Astute, in-depth observation. Thanks a bunch, Michael. Luckily Brandon spoke up next, to ask about the specific sequence of scenes, and we were back on track.
* * *
“Nice work,” Mason murmured as we followed the students out the door at the end of class.
I shivered as his breath grazed my ear. “Why thank you, Mr. Professor Mason Mitchell. You should have let me do this earlier.”
“Oh really? Because after what happened the last time, when I wasn’t around . . .”
“Very funny. However, I’ve just proven I can handle it. So if I need a job next semester, maybe you’ll give me my own class?”
He smiled briefly but didn’t answer.
“Yikes,” I muttered. “Forget I said anything.”
“Sorry,” he said, stopping at the intersection of two hallways. “That was no reflection on your teaching ability. My mind was elsewhere.”
“I’m going to go back to the house to see if FedEx has dropped off my new credit cards—I don’t want them sitting around outside. Want to come back with me, maybe have a little, you know, break?”
“Can’t. Meeting, remember?”
“Oh, right.” I tried not to show that I was disappointed. That would be silly. “Well, good luck with . . . whatever it is.”
“Thanks,” was all he said before he walked off down the hallway.
He sounded so serious I almost ran to catch up with him and force some information out of him, but I really wanted to get my new credit cards. I went in the other direction, swung around a corner, and ran smack into Kaylie.
“Oh, Kaylie, sorry,” I said, trying to get around her. A strange sort of squeak erupted from the girl—odd enough that it made me stop and take a good look at her. “Hey . . . are you crying?”
She kept her eyes on the floor, one hand covering her mouth, and violently shook her head “no” —confirmation if ever I’d seen it. I never, ever expected to see tough little Kaylie cry, and in public too.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
She shook her head again, even more vehemently.
Didn’t matter. I knew already. “Alex,” I growled.
No response. I grabbed her arm. “Come on.”
The nearest private spot was a
concrete bench outside, at the back of the building. I plopped her down, sat next to her, and waited till she got herself together.
Finally, when her shoulders were shaking less, I demanded, “What did he do?”
“I never said it was about Alex.”
“Honey, please. Let’s skip the preliminary denials, all right? What did he do?”
In a choked whisper, she fought out, “Taylor.”
“He did Taylor.”
“That’s what I heard.” And her tears started afresh.
It was nearly impossible for me to bite back my “I told you so.” Kaylie didn’t need to hear that right now. But it was just so tempting. I’d warned her. And then I thought about it from her point of view: This was Alex, the hot celebrity. The guy who could amp up the charm until he had you so turned around you forgot your own name. I’d been there; I couldn’t fault her.
I patted her back. “Are you sure?”
“What do you mean, am I sure?” she cried.
“I mean, who told you? Someone you can trust?”
“Taylor told me.”
“Ah, well. There’s your problem.”
“You know, Ms. Sinclair, you are not helping.”
“I mean, Taylor’s the last person you can trust in this instance.”
“We’re friends. Well, we were.”
“I’ve seen friends implode in a tussle over someone like Alex.” Hell, I’d seen friends implode in a tussle over Alex.
“You think she’s lying?”
“What did she say, exactly?”
“She said Alex cornered her in the light booth and . . . and . . .” Kaylie took a heaving breath. “She was giggling a lot.”
“That’s it?”
“Isn’t that enough?!”
I took a breath. “No, it’s not. You need to find out the truth from Alex.”
“And what if he says nothing happened? I’m supposed to believe him?”
“Ah, I can help you there. I know exactly how to tell when Alex is lying.”
Kaylie finally looked up at me, a little hopeful. “Really?”
Yeah, that was a definite light in her watery eyes. And why not? Someone could help her solve the riddle that was Alex McNulty—who wouldn’t jump at the chance?
“I have a secret weapon for handling Alex McNulty. But you can’t ever tell him I told you, all right?”
“I promise.”
“Okay, then, here’s what you do: First, you hit him with what you need to know, but you make it a statement, not a question. In this case, something like ‘I heard from Taylor that the two of you were getting cozy in the light booth.’ That’s all—then you just wait.”
“That’s it?”
“No, trust me. It’s good. You’re going to want to hurl all kinds of things at him—words and objects—but don’t. Just wait. It’s the silence that kills him. He can’t handle it. Now, while you’re waiting, step two: Watch his hands. Know that silver ring he wears on his forefinger? If he starts spinning it with his thumb, he’s hiding something. If he doesn’t, he’s innocent. Simple as that.”
“That sounds pretty hard to believe.”
“Trust me. I’ve used it on him a million times.”
Kaylie sat for a moment, chewing her lower lip. “And it always works?”
“Always.”
“. . . Why are you helping me?”
I sighed. “Because I know how you feel, and it sucks. And if I can help you one way or the other—get Alex to commit to you or get you out—that’s all that matters.”
She studied me closely. “You’re weird, Ms. Sinclair.”
“So I’ve heard. I usually prefer people who say that to follow it up with ‘in a good way.’” I paused. She sat. “I’m waiting, Kaylie.”
She smiled reluctantly and rolled her eyes. “Okay. ‘In a good way.’”
“Why, Kaylie. How sweet. Thanks so much.”
* * *
“Faith, Faith!” Alex grabbed my hand as soon as I walked into the advanced acting class and pulled, like a little boy trying to get an adult to come see a new favorite toy. “Gotta talk to you.” And he dragged me over to the far aisle at the foot of the stage.
In spite of myself, I was charmed by the dopey look on his face. “Alex, what the hell?”
“Let’s do it, Faith. Let’s revive David.”
My mouth dropped open. I had been hoping Alex was getting closer to making a decision, but I didn’t think he’d do it this quickly. “You mean it?”
“Hell yeah I mean it!”
“Oh my God—excellent!” Alex said yes. Alex said yes! He was going to be back on Modern Women—and so was I. “But what—how—”
“I was thinking about what you said, and it just . . . made sense, you know? Get back with everybody, have some fun—”
“You know it!” Suddenly bursting with energy, I gave his arm a shove. “This is going to be—”
“Awesome!”
Not even Alex’s limited vocabulary could dim my suddenly great mood. “Yeah.” I beamed, laughing. “Awesome.”
Alex held his arms wide, and I gave him a quick hug, nothing more than that. But as I pulled away, he suddenly reached out and stroked my cheek—and it seemed like more intimate a gesture than if he had kissed me. I took a step back and turned my head away, feeling my cheeks flame. Dammit.
To make matters worse, there was a familiar strangled hiccup, and I looked over just in time to see Kaylie’s glossy ponytail swing out of sight backstage. Dammit!Had Kaylie followed my instructions, and was Alex using the show as an opportunity to run away from her? Had I just pushed Kaylie into forcing Alex’s hand, and she’d lost? I considered going after her, but Alex was still pulling on me.
“Hey, Faith? Faith, do you think I can get my old trailer back? I think I left some excellent weed hidden behind the cushions of the bench seat . . .”
For a second, I was torn, but . . . Alex was coming back toModern Women! Nothing else mattered. I had to call Jaya ASAP.
* * *
“Can you believe it? I mean, finally!” I exclaimed, bouncing around the bedroom. I paused in my bouncing as something occurred to me. “It was pretty easy in the end, come to think of it.”
Mason made a noncommittal noise as he rooted around in his messenger bag.
I resumed bouncing. “Jaya and I have been on the phone ever since, brainstorming. God, it feels so good to be able to make concrete plans now! I told her we’d give him a limited contract, just three or four episodes for now—we’ll see how it works out before we decide whether to make this a permanent thing. But I really think this is going to breathe new life into the old girl. It’ll turn the whole thing around, pull us out of the nosedive Randy put us in.
“I told Jaya to tell Randy I’d write the scripts, and direct—that’s non-negotiable. God, getting Alex’s first episode ready in time for November sweeps is going to be a bitch. And we need teasers. I’m thinking tons of spots running on TV and the Web—really mysterious, you know? Maybe angled, grainy still shots of a biker boot, a guy’s leg, maybe a butt, with a voiceover, something like, ‘You’ll never guess who’s coming back,’ maybe some dramatic-tension-building mood music, boom, boom, boom, to punctuate the shots. What do you think?”
Mason glanced up, nodded.
I knew I was rambling, but I couldn’t stop. I had limitless energy all of a sudden, and I couldn’t seem to rein it in. “Jaya’s sending me the scripts from this season as soon as she can, so I can see what kind of mess the story lines are in. It’s going to be hellish, untangling them with any sort of believability. Would you mind if I missed Friday’s class? I really have a lot of reading to do. It’s all informal at the moment—Jaya has to get Randy to approve giving me my job back, but she says it won’t be a problem. She’s calling me and Alex a package deal. He wants Alex, he’s gotta take me. She can sell it. She’s going to track him down tonight, or tomorrow at the latest.”
I paused in the bathroom doorway. “Everything all ri
ght?” Keeping his back to me, he nodded again. Hm. “Mason?”
“I have a headache, Faith. I’m just going to go to sleep, if you don’t mind.” And he crawled under the covers and closed his eyes.
I plopped onto the bed, on my knees, looking down at him. “What’s up with you?”
“Look,” he said sharply, “I’m really in no shape to keep up with you right now. Congratulations and all that, okay? I’m happy for you. Now goodnight.” After a moment, he added, “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”
Nope, not okay—not by a long shot. “Hey, come on,” I persisted. “I thought you’d be, you know, happier for me. It’s the whole reason I came out here in the first place—”
I could feel Mason tense up beside me. “Yep,” he said in a clipped voice, “there it is.”
“What?”
With a heavy sigh, he rolled onto his back, his arm across his forehead, and gave me a hard look. “God, you can be so callous, you know that?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh no, you don’t. You can’t just drop that bomb and then say ‘nothing.’ Tell me what’s going on.”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? Not if it doesn’t directly affect you and your damned TV show.”
Wow. “That’s a little harsh.”
He glared at me. “But accurate.”
“So, what, I’m not supposed to be excited that I get my show back?”
Mason didn’t answer, just closed his eyes again.
“This isn’t about me and Alex again, is it?” I tried.
“No, this is not about you and Alex. Give me somecredit.”
“Well, what then!”
He rose up on his elbow and stared straight at me. “There are more people in the world than just you, you know. You could act like it sometimes.”
“What are you accusing me of? Don’t tell me we’re back to the ‘self-serving’ thing again.”
“If it fits.”
I sighed, aggravated beyond measure. “Look. My whole point of being here was to—”
“I know, I know. Get Alex back and get back to the show yourself.”
“I told you that ages ago.”
“I realize that. But between then and now, other people’s lives have gotten mixed up in yours. And Alex’s. But you don’t even seem to care.”