by Meg Benjamin
“She’s not upset.” Monica took another swallow of her beer. “Well, she is upset, but more about the tabloids and the pictures than the fall.”
“Damn tabloids,” Dick muttered. “Scourge of the Western World.”
“I read ’em,” Nona said. “Well, not all of ’em. That Celebrity News thing that had all those pictures of the rodeo, that one’s nasty. I don’t read it usually.”
Ted headed back toward the bar. “You want anything else, let me know,” he called over his shoulder.
“I could use a hamburger,” Dick said in a sharp voice.
Ted shrugged, not bothering to turn back.
“Goddamn hippie,” Dick muttered, swallowing half his remaining beer.
“He’s just trying to teach you some manners,” Nona said calmly. “You start acting decent, and he’ll start making burgers for you again.”
“They don’t make burgers anymore?” Monica felt like sighing. The cherry on the crap sundae of her day. No burgers.
“He makes burgers,” Nona explained. “He just won’t make ’em for Dick. Not until he stops growling at customers.”
“Goddamn tourists,” Dick muttered again.
Nona shrugged. “For a lot of us, tourists pay the rent.”
“Not my rent.”
“Not my problem, you old fart.” She smiled at him, her eyes suddenly warm.
Interesting. So Dick the dick had at least one fan.
Ted appeared at Monica’s shoulder again, carrying a platter of nachos with everything. Her mouth immediately began to water.
“They smell terrific, but I didn’t order these,” she said against her better judgment.
“I know. I thought you looked like you could use them. Do you want me to take them back?” He grinned down at her.
“No, definitely not. Thank you.” She picked up a chip that was fully laden with refried beans, salsa, guacamole, and cheddar. “Oh most decidedly not,” she muttered through her first bite.
“Going to share?” Dick’s icy eyes narrowed to slits.
Monica shrugged. “That depends. Are you going to lay off me and my job while you eat?”
He shrugged. “My mouth will be otherwise occupied, so yeah.”
“What about after you finish?” She lifted another fully loaded chip in the direction of her mouth.
Dick grimaced. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“These are really terrific nachos. And way too many for me to eat on my own. Gosh, what a shame nobody else wants any.” She gave him a dewy smile.
Across the table, Nona snickered.
Dick grimaced again. “Okay, okay. No more shots for the rest of the night. Now, can I have some nachos?”
Monica pushed the platter into the center of the table. “Knock yourself out.”
Dick dug out a chip that was as fully loaded as her own. “Looks like you’re developing some definite survival skills there, kid.”
She shrugged. “I’ve always had survival skills. I’m just developing the desire to use them.”
He grinned as he bit down on the chip. “Good for you, toots. First step up the ladder. Way I heard it, that rodeo debacle wasn’t your idea. That right?”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t my idea, but it was my responsibility. I should have checked it out more thoroughly earlier in the day. So it’s still something you can blame me for.”
“Not while I’m eating.” Dick ran a chip through the melted cheese at the side of the platter and ignored her as long as the nachos lasted.
Ted kept them well supplied for the rest of the evening with beer and bar food. He never gave Dick anything. Everything edible came through Monica and Nona. Monica wasn’t sure if that was intended to keep Dick in line, but it did cut down on his talking. He spent most of his time either chewing or brooding.
Nona took off around nine, muttering about opening the garage at eight the next day. “Behave yourself,” she said to Dick. “So far, you’ve been decent to everybody. Show me you can actually be a stand-up guy for an entire evening.” She turned to Monica. “If he acts up, belt him one. He’s gotten away with too much in his life.”
“Yes ma’am,” she replied. “I’ll take that under consideration.”
An hour or so later, when she’d had more beer and bar food than was good for her, Monica stretched and leaned back in her chair. She was beginning to feel marginally human.
Dick turned toward her. “Can I ask you a question related to your profession?”
“Depends. Is it nasty?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think so, no.”
“Okay, fire away.” She dragged a pita chip through the remains of the spinach artichoke dip that was Ted’s latest contribution.
“Is working for this company what you really want to do?”
She paused, tensing. Normally, she’d consider that a shot. Or at least a prelude to one. Now…maybe not. She shrugged. “I used to think it was, but probably not. I’ve been sort of mulling it over the last couple of days. I think it’s probably time for me to look for something else.”
“You want to stay in the business?”
She raised an eyebrow. “The business?”
His mouth twisted. “You know, your business. Show business.”
She frowned, thinking for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, I do. It’s what I was trained for.”
Dick leaned back in his chair. “Trained for? Trained by whom?”
“I have a degree in film from Long Beach State.” She squared her shoulders waiting for him to make a crack, but he didn’t look particularly sardonic for once.
“So did you use your training with this television show?”
“Sort of.” She frowned again. “Actually, I learned a hell of a lot about how production works at Fairstein, although not much about making movies.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I learned how to work with thin budgets and make the result look good. I learned all the stuff associate producers are supposed to learn. I’m damned good at making schedules and figuring out logistics. And I can look at a location and know whether it’ll work or not.” She leaned forward, tapping her fingers on the table. “That’s important. I mean, sometimes a location looks like it’ll be great, but once you start shooting you find all kinds of problems. I’ve gotten so I can walk around a place and see whether it’ll work within the first ten minutes.”
Dick started to make a comment, but Monica was rolling. “And I learned how to deal with problems on the fly. I mean nothing ever works out the way you think it’s going to work out on a show like Finding Miss Right. So you’re always improvising, finding different ways to do things so that you can still get them done. That’s a big part of my job, and I’m damn good at it.”
“Happily ever after.” Dick smirked.
Monica thought about reminding him of his promise, but decided to overlook it. “No. Not happily ever after. None of these couples ever ends up together permanently. What you’re looking for is a satisfactory ending, not a happy one. One the viewers can live with. Of course, ones they can’t live with are also fun. Whenever we get lots of protest mail, the ratings skyrocket.”
“There’s one born every minute.” He was still smirking.
Monica frowned. “No. The viewers aren’t suckers. Most people know we’re not really bringing couples together. But they’re intrigued with the idea. And they’re always curious to see what happens when you try matching up perfect strangers. And to tell you the truth, I think they’re happy when these couples don’t work out. I mean, here you have these young, pretty people, but that doesn’t mean they end up with perfect lives. Maybe the audience feels like that makes their lives okay too.”
Dick raised an eyebrow. “Were you this cynical before you started working for this bunch?”
“I wouldn’t call it cynical. It’s realistic. The shows I’ve worked on at Fairstein are sort of like B movies. People just watch them for fun. They’re not expecting to learn anything or to be profound
ly moved.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Profoundly moved seems like a stretch.”
“It’s always a stretch.” She smiled, getting further into the thought. “We’re the ones who turn out pure, low-rent entertainment these days. It’s kind of like working for Roger Corman back in the sixties. Roger Corman was this famous B movie producer back in the day,” she added.
Dick’s lips curved into a dry smile. “So I’ve heard.”
“Well anyway, it’s kind of like that.” She sighed, slumping back in her chair. “I’m really tired all of a sudden. Maybe I need to go back to Praeger House.”
“But you don’t want to go on working for them,” Dick said as if she hadn’t spoken.
Monica shook her head. “No. I think I’ve learned about as much as I can learn from this experience. It’s time to move on to whatever’s next.”
“So you’re going to quit?”
She frowned, drawing a finger through the circle of dampness left by her beer bottle. “Yes. But not until I find something else. Don’t they always say to hang onto your current job until you’ve found a replacement?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, anyway, that’s what I’ll do. I think.” She pushed herself to her feet. “But right now I’m going to walk back to the hotel.”
“You need any help with that?” He asked a bit grudgingly.
Monica shook her head. “No sir. I shall think of this as my first step on the road to independence.”
Dick raised his beer in her direction. “Go for it, toots.”
“Thanks, Dick,” she said grandly. “I shall.”
And by keeping her attention on her feet, she managed to get out of the Blarney Stone without tripping. Good for me. Yay, Monica.
But she couldn’t help checking her cell phone once she’d made it to the lobby. And she couldn’t help the slight hollow feeling when she saw there was nothing there from Paul.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Paul managed to grab an hour of sleep on the plane back to Denver, which was good since he hadn’t slept for more than two hours out of the previous twenty-four.
The deal was set. The contracts were being written up, and he had a handshake with the executive producer at El Capitan. He’d be free from Fairstein after he completed whatever contractual requirements he still had on Finding Miss Right. But he wouldn’t be Ronnie’s bachelor of choice, and he was pretty sure they couldn’t force him to be. He was done with Finding Mr. Right now and forever.
He just hoped Monica didn’t feel the same way about him. He’d had a dead cell phone for two days and couldn’t call to grovel. He figured there was a lot of groveling in his future, though, which he’d undertake gladly given how much he deserved it.
He jogged through the Denver airport toward the commuter flight gates to get his plane back to the regional airport near Salt Box. Once he got to the gate, he’d call Monica and start the groveling.
The newsstand was on his left and he almost missed it. If it hadn’t been for the screaming red headline splashed across the front, he’d probably have trotted right by. But the words “Ronnie’s Bachelor” fired a few synapses, and he found himself slowing, then backing up.
The copies of Celebrity News were obviously hot off the printer. Several issues were still in stacks bound with twine, waiting for the concessionaire to untie them and put them on the rack.
He stared down at the snapshots spilling across the cover, some in sharp focus, some softer and more provocative. His shoulders tightened, his hands balling into fists. He dug into his pocket for his wallet, dropping some bills on the counter and picking up a copy to leaf through as he began to run for the gate again.
“Cathe,” he whispered as he jogged. “Oh Cathe. You bitch from hell.”
Monica considered going tubing on the river again but decided against it. It didn’t strike her as much fun without Paul along. She wondered briefly if he’d gotten back to Elkhorn Run yet. Or if he planned to come back at all. Not that it was any of her business.
She ended up grabbing a sandwich and a bottle of water from the refrigerated cases at the hotel, then heading up a trail that apparently led to the nearest lake. Colleen had promised her the hike wasn’t tough, although since Colleen lived in Salt Box, her standards for tough could have been different from Monica’s.
The lake was a small circle of greenish blue hidden in the pines. Jagged peaks showed through at one end, reflected in the crystal-clear water. She found a spot on a sunny boulder and opened her book.
Three hours later, rested, refreshed and infinitely more relaxed than she’d been the day before, she walked back down the trail. Colleen had been right—the hike had been easy and just long enough to work up a slight sweat. She arrived back in Salt Box in late afternoon, ready for another go-round with Dick at the Blarney Stone, although the conversation they’d had last night hadn’t been all that hostile.
She didn’t see him when she walked in, but Nona and Clark were leaning together at the bar, along with Ted Saltzman. All three of them looked remarkably serious.
“Hi,” Monica said a little tentatively. “Problems?”
The three turned to stare at her almost simultaneously. She felt a little like ducking. “What?”
Nona’s brow furrowed. “Have you seen this week’s Celebrity News?”
Monica blinked. “No. I don’t read it. Why?”
“You might want to take a look at it this time.” Nona pushed the magazine along the bar toward her.
Monica stared down at the cover. Her own face stared back. Several versions of her face, in fact. There were shots of her and Paul floating down the river outside town, shots of the two of them strolling hand-in-hand along Main Street in Salt Box, and some fuzzy shots of the two of them she couldn’t exactly identify. The location looked vaguely familiar, though.
A headline sprawled across the photos in lurid red print: “Ronnie’s Cheating Bachelor.”
She gritted her teeth, leafing quickly through to the article. More pictures. Short text. Bachelor Paul Dewitt cheated on bachelorette Ronnie Valero while he was competing to be her fiancé on Finding Mr. Right. The woman with Dewitt in these exclusive photos has been identified as Monica McKellar, an associate producer on the high-rated series. Dewitt is rumored to be one of the finalists to be Ronnie’s Mr. Right. Sources close to the show say Ronnie was devastated over his affair with another woman. “She’s a strong woman, though. She’ll come through. Dewitt was a sleaze ball anyway,” said a close friend of the bachelorette. “But Ronnie thought she loved him.”
“I recognize some of these pictures,” she murmured. “Faisal took them while we were here in town. Why would he give them to Celebrity News?”
“Most likely for the money,” Clark said shortly. “Tabloid magazines pay big bucks for paparazzi shots.”
“But we all know who took them. He’ll lose his job with Fairstein.” He won’t be the only one. She put the magazine down on the bar before her hands began to tremble.
“Honey, I hate to make a bad situation worse, but not all of these pictures were taken here in town,” Nona said quietly.
Monica looked back at the article again. There were more of the blurred pictures from the cover. They showed two people walking down a path between arching trees. They had their arms around each other. If you looked really close, you could see it was she and Paul. She closed her eyes, willing her pulse to slow down.
“Where were those taken?” Nona asked.
“The hot springs. The one outside town.” Someone had taken some shots when they’d walked back to the car in the middle of the night. She was betting the photographer hadn’t been Faisal that time.
“Carter’s Falls?” Nona sounded slightly more interested.
Monica nodded. “We did an episode there.”
“That’s one episode I might like to see,” Ted muttered.
Clark nodded at the beer taps. “I think we need three cold ones. Now.” He turned back to Mo
nica again. “So where’s Paul? Has he seen this yet?”
“I don’t know. He had to go back to California for a couple of days.” Although once he saw Celebrity News, he might not bother coming back.
“You could call him,” Clark suggested.
She sighed. “I could try.” There was, of course, no reason to believe this call would go through any more than any of the others had.
“Go ahead,” Nona advised. “No reason for him to get blindsided by this.”
No reason except possibly revenge. She dug her phone out of her purse and headed back through the front door to the porch where the reception was better, plus she wouldn’t be monitored by a curious crowd.
The sun was dipping lower in the sky, turning the clouds a dozen shades of pink. She started to dial Paul’s number when she saw the symbol for a text message on her screen. She pulled it up. It was from Sid.
Where RU? Shit has hit fan.
She took a deep breath. Of course Glenn and Sid had seen the magazine by now, along with everybody else at Fairstein. How could they not? She dialed Sid’s number.
“Where are you?” he said after one ring.
“I’m still keeping my head down. What’s happening?”
“You’ve seen Celebrity News, right?”
“Right.” She balled her hand into a fist in her pocket.
Sid sighed. “Look, Monica, it’s not like we didn’t know the two of you were getting together.”
“Believe me, I didn’t release this stuff to Celebrity News.” She bit her lip. “Who sold the photos to the magazine? You know some of them were Faisal’s.”
“Faisal swears he didn’t sell them to anybody. He says somebody downloaded copies from his computer.”
She felt a small rush of relief. Not Faisal. “Who did it?”
“Nobody knows for sure.”
She massaged the tension at the back of her neck. “Is Paul there now?”
“No. Is he supposed to be?”
“I don’t know when he’s due back. I don’t even know if he’s seen the magazine yet.” But she was betting he had.
“Glenn’s going to issue a statement about how upset everybody is. You know, ‘We’re shocked and appalled that such shenanigans were going on, Ronnie is devastated, etc., etc., etc.’ Then we’ll shoot a special episode with Paul apologizing to Ronnie and Ronnie chewing him out.”