by Jayne Denker
“Well? Why couldn’t you just let me do it?”
“Oh, my darling daughter.” Mona put down her fork again and, smiling, cradled my face. “I did it solely because you never, ever asked me to do anything for you. When I saw the opportunity to help, I jumped at it, even if I had to do it secretly. It gave me the greatest satisfaction, finally being able to give you something, even if you didn’t know it. I did it out of love for you, simple as that.”
I was mortified to find tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “I thought—” I started in a choked voice, “I thought I was just . . . a complication. Like you just barely put up with me because I existed, but wished I didn’t, because you’d rather be making movies instead.”
“Rosemary,” my mother declared, “that is the most ridiculous statement I have everheard issued from your lips. I made movies andhad you. It was never an either/or situation.”
“You weren’t very affectionate when I was little.”
She sighed. “I know. I simply didn’t know how. My parents weren’t demonstrative with me, and unfortunately I picked up the same bad trait. But I was more affectionate with you than they were with me, if you can believe it, so I expect you to be even more affectionate with your children, and we’ll break this cycle of chilly parentage. How does that sound?”
Swiping at the corners of my eyes, I actually laughed. “What children? I’m too old for children.”
She gave me a conspiratorial smile. “Not yet, dear. Not yet.”
“I don’t have time for kids. I’ve got a show to run.”
“I did it; so can you. I have faith in you.” She winked at me, pleased with her little joke. “Have you been in contact with Jaya? Has Randy approved your return yet? If not, I could make another phone call—”
“Mother!”
“I’d accept ‘Mother.’ That would do nicely, thank you dear.”
* * *
Soon enough Mona decamped to the beach house to continue healing, and she forced me to go to the studio as soon as Randy officially reinstated me. Being back on the set of Modern Women was the most incredible homecoming I could possibly have imagined. I loved signing my new contract in front of Randy—and giving him a dazzling smile and daring an air kiss—and yes, he flinched, afraid I was going to grab him again (as if). I enjoyed the extended round of applause from everyone when I walked onto the soundstage, the hugs and good wishes, and Jaya turning over the director’s chair to me once again. But best by far were the everyday things: Randy staying the hell away from the set and letting us get on with it (for which Jaya was eternally grateful). Settling back into the tiny corner I called my office—and bringing back my “personal stuff” that I’d had to tote home with me months before. Going over the new scripts with Jaya—and Elizabeth, whom I promoted to full-time writer. Retaining our fall premiere date instead of being shunted to midseason. And best of all, what happened later in the week . . .
“Good morning, Bea! I’m back!” I cried, leaning out of my Cayenne to give her my biggest, brightest smile.
“Mh.”
“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you ever since I got back.”
Bea made a derisive gargling noise; there was more gunk in her lungs than in the La Brea Tar Pits. “Even gate attendants get vacations, you know.”
“I’ve sure missed your . . . spunk, Bea. Did you miss me?”
“They gave someone else your golf cart,” she croaked bluntly, sizing me up with a beady little eye to see how I’d take the news.
“Oh, pfft. I’ll just get a new one. Maybe with a custom paint job. Whaddya think?”
“Somebody thinks pretty highly of herself.”
“Apparently the networkthinks pretty highly of me, because not only am I back, with great new ideas for the show, but I also have a bigger budget.”
“Bully for you. Gimme a raise, then.”
“I would if I could, but the funds are spoken for already.”
“Yeah, paying a hefty salary to that pretty-boy of yours, Al—”
“Bea!” I shushed her. “You know that’s top secret!”
“Bah. I’ve kept more secrets in this town over the years than you have extensions on your head, missy.”
“Hey, old woman, I’ll have you know my hair is all real, thank you very much. But the whole . . . Alex thing,” I mouthed the last two words, “is still completely under wraps.”
Bea fired up her gurgling laugh again. “Sure it is.”
I felt a flare of alarm in my gut. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll find out. Now move along; you’re holding up the line.”
There was indeed a Lamborghini behind me, revving its engine, so I zipped to my parking space near the Modern Women soundstage and ran to find Jaya.
* * *
“You have got to be shitting me,” I hissed. “How did this happen?”
“I don’t know,” Jaya whispered, her eyes wide. “I swear—”
I stared down at Jaya’s tablet. At the Mrs. McNulty blog—again. Damn that blogger. The new hot-pink headline blared that Alex was coming back to Modern Women. Plus there were a few grainy cell phone pictures of Alex, obviously taken by stealth, on the set, in his trailer, outside the soundstage. These were all current. From our closed set. Which meant that it wasn’t Kaylie, or anyone else from IECC, behind the blog.
“Who the hellis breaking their confidentiality agreement?” I demanded.
“Someone immensely stupid,” Jaya said, crossing her arms and looking at the crew bustling around us. “And soon to be unemployed.”
“Goddammit. I’m feeling stabby.”
“This is going to be all over the Web in no time. Even if we issue a cease and desist on this Mrs. McNulty, whoever she is, a bunch of other sites will pick it up.”
“Who would do this?” I groaned. “We’re . . . we’re family here.”
Jaya turned to her ever-present shadow, Ashley. “Go get Faith a latte, Ash. Extra foam.” No amount of foam on my latte was going to make me feel any better, but I appreciated the gesture.
As she left, Justin, one of our runners, jogged up. “Faith, your mom’s here.”
I froze. “What?”
“Your mom. Just coming in now.” And he took off again, on his way to another errand.
“Seriously?” Jaya breathed.
I looked over to the entrance to the soundstage, and sure enough, there was Mona in all her glory, fast being approached by various awed members of the cast and crew, looking for all the world like Norma Desmond making her grand return to the studio. I hustled over.
“Mona,” I said, as the crowd parted for me, and I saw my wayward stepbrother by her side. “Jamie. What’s going on?”
“Hello, dear,” she said, holding out her hands to me, so I felt compelled to take them. “I thought I’d come visit you at work. It occurred to me that I’ve never visited your set. I hope this isn’t a bad time?”
“It’s fine. Um, let me show you around.”
Mona took my arm, leaving Jamie to follow us. I looked over my shoulder, to find that he had been waylaid by the younger women. There was no denying that his Web series had been big with the wired crowd, and they’d dutifully followed him to television.
“Your stepbrother was kind enough to drive me in his new Porsche,” Mona said as we made our way through the different interior sets for the show. “Never let me agree to that again.”
“Frightening?”
“If anyone should become successful enough to be able to hire a chauffeur, it’s Jamie.”
“Looks like he just might be able to. I was on a conference call with the MTV suits the other day—they’re saying Jamie could have the biggest reality series for their network since The Real World. They’re already talking about a second season. In Tokyo, just to mix things up a bit.”
“The mind reels,” my mother murmured.
As I fought back a smile, I snuck a glance at her, noted the heavy foundation she was wearing to
hide the remaining bruises at the edges of her face. “How are you feeling?”
“Quite well, thank you.”
She nodded at some of the grips we passed, who greeted her deferentially. Like the queen was walking among her subjects. And the crew seemed thrilled.
And then I saw Alex homing in on Mona like a predator drone. “Uh-oh. Toady, twelve o’clock,” I muttered in warning.
“What’s that, dear?”
“Alex. He’s always asking me about you. He’s angling for a movie career. I’ll get rid of him.”
My mother patted my arm. “That’s all right, dear. I can take care of myself.” Mona took a deep breath and, before Alex could say a word, exclaimed, “Alex McNulty! My goodness!”
I could have sworn Alex’s heels made a cartoony screeeee braking noise as he stopped short, stunned. “You—you know me?”
“Of course, dear! I’m a huge fan! And may I say you are even more handsome in person! Oh, I’m so sorry—I should introduce myself. Mona Urquhart.” And she held out a hand for him to shake.
Alex looked from her to me as he shook her hand, clearly suspicious and wondering if this was a joke. At least he was that perceptive, because Mona was playing it to the hilt. If it wasn’t a joke, I’d have been ready to have her committed.
“May I also say,” my mother went on, cutting him off again, just as he opened his mouth to speak, “that I am just thrilled that you’re returning to Modern Women. My daughter shared the secret with me; I hope you don’t mind,” she added as an aside. “I do think you’re brilliant.”
Alex opened his mouth again, waited. When Mona didn’t interrupt him, he managed to say, “Thanks very much?”
“Oh, but I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you have a thousand things to do, to prepare for your scenes today. Make my daughter proud, won’t you? And remember, I will definitely be watching!”
If Mona had physically shoved him to send him on his way, it couldn’t have worked out better. Through sheer force of will, she dismissed Alex, and he went, albeit glancing over his shoulder at her once or twice, trying to figure out what had just happened.
“Oh, excellent job, Mother,” I murmured, watching Alex’s retreat.
“Thank you, dear. You’d better keep an eye on that one. He’s not to be trusted.”
“I agree wholeheartedly.”
Jamie finally caught up with us, having peeled off his new fans. “Wass going on?”
“I’m having doubts about bringing Alex back. But,” I sighed, “it’s too late now, so I’m just going to have to suck it up.”
“Thought that’s what you always wanted, sis,” he said with a leer, nudging me with his elbow. “Eh?”
I landed a solid punch, and it was gratifying to see him wince. “Watch yourself, English.”
“’S true, innit?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Ah, times have changed, then, eh? You’re more taken with that bloke you’ve been video-chatting with every night, am I right?”
“Oh?” Mona asked, sounding highly interested. “And who’s this?”
My mother, interested in my love life? Suddenly I became fascinated by my manicure. “Just . . . somebody I met. At school.” Oh excellent. Way to sound like a teenager. I might as well have said I met him in study hall.
“A student?”
“No, Mona!” I gasped. “A, uh, professor. Theater and film studies.”
“Ooh, a rumpled intellectual. I’ve always liked those. Well done.”
“Mona, what in the world has gotten into you lately?”
She just smiled placidly. “Just enjoying being alive, dear, which is hardly a crime,” she murmured. She patted my arm and looked around. “Why don’t you show me your office?”
Chapter 23
“So this is what I’m thinking,” I said, leaning in toward my propped-up tablet as I reached over it to grab some of the more troublesome sides of the script I was working on.
“Faith, could you move back just a little bit?”
“Oh, sorry.” I settled back in my seat.
“Um, no, not there. Can you go forward, just not as far? I need to see down your shirt again.”
I swiped my hand across the screen for a long-distance slap. “Perv.”
“I miss you. And not just your cleavage,” Mason said, even though he was indeed staring in the general vicinity of my breasts.
“I miss you too. But that’s what I was getting at. I’ve got a great idea.”
“Skype sex?”
“Again? Sure. But this is even better. Check it out: field trip.”
“What?”
“Field trip! You guys do field trips in college, don’t you?”
“Well . . . it’s not as common as in high school . . .”
“But you could, right? Especially if you were going to, say, spend the day at a major Hollywood studio to see how a television show gets made? Huh? Huh?”
Mason chewed on his lower lip as he thought about it.
“Stop that,” I snapped. I wanted to be the one doing that, dang it.
“Stop what?”
“That thing you’re doing with your lip. You’re making me crazy. Cut it out.”
He gave me one of his wicked smiles. “So ifwe ventured out your way on a field trip, the kids get an education. What does the professor get?”
I leaned in to give him another cleavage shot. “Whatever he wants,” I purred.
* * *
I was as proud as a new mother showing off her darling baby as I gave the awed students a tour of our digs. They, in turn, were thrilled to get an insider’s look at the way a television show was produced. Elias and Michael, predictably, were most captivated by Evie—and she didn’t seem to mind in the least. Kaylie hung back, nervous about seeing Alex, but looking for him all the same. To his credit, he bravely approached her, and I even saw them talking peacefully in a corner, with no sign of Taylor to interrupt them. After that, Kaylie was looking a little more sprightly, and Mason and I nodded to each other, pleased and relieved.
Over lunch in the studio commissary, I tried to control the students’ rubbernecking as they looked around for more famous people long enough to make a big announcement that even Mason didn’t know about.
“Okay guys, I’ve got something for you, besides the show T-shirts and mugs and other swag that I’m going to dump on you at the end of the day.” Mason was watching me closely, curious, and I even had the students’ full attention. “I heard from Professor Mitchell about IECC ending the theater program. I’m really sorry; I think the college is making a huge mistake—” The kids cut me off with a lot of grumbling. “I know, I know. But what’s done is done, and I’ve heard that you’ll be welcomed at the UCR theater department, and I’m sure it’s also a good program. However . . .” And they all got quiet again. “I’m going to offer you an alternative. We’ve got quite a few new internship spots available, thanks to the EWW network’s generous revised budget for the show, and I’m giving IECC students the right of first refusal. Want an internship for the second semester, starting in January? Come see me. You’ll get real-world experience right here at EWW, and the”—I was nearly drowned out by the clamor of their excited voices—“the internship credit will be honored by UCR. The studio’s internship program is also in good standing with most other colleges in the area too, if you choose to transfer to a different program in the fall. And!” The students got quiet again. “Did I mention they’re paid internships?”
As the students freaked out about the opportunity—and the prospect of cash in their pockets—Mason caught my eye, and we shared a smile. And suddenly, much as I loved the students, I couldn’t wait for them to leave. Because in a few hours, they were going back to Moreno Valley, but Mason was staying for the weekend.
* * *
“Hey.”
Mason glanced over at me, then back at his laptop. “Yep?” I didn’t say anything for a moment, just admired his profile, set off by the shadows and
firelight in my living room. It was still too warm for a fire, but I had lit one anyway, because I was feeling soppily romantic. When I didn’t speak, he asked, still looking at his computer, “Faith? What?”
I crawled across the small space between us and planted a kiss on his soft, sexy lips. “I’ve missed you.”
He smiled. “I’m right here.”
“You know what I mean. I don’t like this three-hundred-miles-away thing. Not one bit. You’ve gotta be closer to me. I demand it.”
“You demand?” He twined a curl of my hair in his fingers, the gaze from his warm brown eyes, so dark in the half-light, making me tingle. “And for your information, we’re only about seventy miles away from each other.”
“Don’t burden me with details, mister. Where have you been looking for jobs?”
“Lots of places.”
I scanned the list of prospects on his computer. “None in L.A.? How come? There are, like, a million colleges around here.”
“And no openings in their theater or film departments. Think about it—a million colleges, but all of them within spitting distance of the entertainment industry. That means ten million showbiz-experienced applicants.”
“You just sound too scared to apply to the big theater and film programs. Or,” I hesitated, then rushed on, “don’t you want to get a job closer to me?”
“Oh, I do,” he murmured, reassuring me with a returned kiss, then sat back and dragged his long fingers through his unruly hair. “I don’t know why I’m bothering right now, anyway. Nobody’s listing jobs for next fall this early. They’ll start showing up in the spring.”
My heart beating triple time, I spoke before I could chicken out. “Sell your house. Move to L.A.”
Bewildered, he stammered, “Wh–what?”
“Move here—live with me. Be unemployed as long as you like; my money is your money.”
Mason blinked rapidly, trying to parse what I had just said. “Faith . . .” he started slowly, “that’s—”
“Insane, I know. Too fast, I know. I don’t care.”
“May I remind you,” he said with a smile, “of what happened the last time you let someone live with you, and you said something along the lines of ‘my money is your money’?”