The DIY Groom

by Lori Wilde

  “Here he is, folks,” Ed said jovially, leading him to a pair of Good Living Network execs.

  Zack shook hands with a thin woman in a black suit and the head honcho, an Oklahoma good ol’ boy in jeans who’d parlayed a single radio station into a broadcasting empire based in New York. They played good-guy, bad-girl with him, the boss glad-handing while his skeletal sidekick tried to pump him about how he liked working with Megan.

  He said a lot of good things about her but didn’t mention she sometimes drove him crazy with her lists and scripts and goals.

  Where the devil was she?

  “Better get to makeup,” Ed said at last, releasing him from the crossfire of questions.

  He was glad to escape the grilling.

  “Hey, you look lousy today.”

  Julie, the intern, was doing his makeup today, obviously a learning experience for her.

  “Hold still, I have to do something about your eyes,” she ordered with the voice of newly received authority.

  She smeared brownish makeup on his face while he impatiently watched the open doorway, hoping to see Megan.

  Ed had a surprise for him. He brought a bright-blue T-shirt with the station logo while Zack was still sneezing from a blizzard of powder. Julie was nothing if not heavy-handed.

  “Matching shirts for you and Megan,” the producer said.

  “I haven’t worn a twin outfit since my brother and I escaped the child-model business,” he grumbled, but went off to put it on.

  Megan looked a hell of a lot better than he did in the shirt. His was a size smaller than he liked, but hers was like a second skin worn with white jeans so tight she probably wasn’t wearing panties under them. Bright lights, tight clothes, and cameras rolling—the perfect combination to ensure he’d really look like an idiot on this show.

  “Hello, Zack,” Megan said.

  “How do you like being a twin?”

  “It was not my idea, but I can’t kill Ed in front of the Good Living execs. You look lousy. Maybe I should redo your makeup.”

  “Julie did a good job. I just have a summer cold.”

  “Yeah, and I have purple-spotted parrot pox.”

  She flounced to a decrepit old dresser with sagging drawers, broken knobs, and loose veneer.

  He looked from the piece of junk to the tools assembled on a nearby table. Zack had nixed using his own because they were more sophisticated than their audience was likely to own.

  “What do we have here, a tornado survivor?” he asked, ambling over to Megan.

  “Can you just for once approach a project without your negative attitude?”

  “Okay, okay, whatever you say.”

  She was obviously nervous about having the New York execs in the audience again. He resolved to help her look good even though he was beginning to hate the idea of her show leaving Detroit.

  It was what she wanted, and he could use it to explain why they weren’t getting married. Still, it was a lousy move.

  He walked around the junky dresser, wanting to smash it to kindling with his fists. It had about as much potential as his phony engagement.

  Megan gave her introduction, and he marveled at the way she put a positive spin on the project of the day.

  “Hopeless, isn’t it?” she asked as the camera went in for a close-up. “But you’ll be amazed at how it will look with some easy repairs.”

  The white jeans were a mistake. She had the best rear end in the city, arguably the country. Who wanted to look at a heap of scrap lumber when she was walking around looking so cute? He felt lightheaded.

  “First we repair the drawers and add new knobs, then we’ll be tackling the veneer,” she said, sounding genuinely enthusiastic. “And here’s everyone’s favorite home repairman, Zack Bailey of Bailey Construction.”

  The thunderous applause made him feel like a fraud. If it weren’t for Megan and his deal with her, he wouldn’t waste thirty seconds on the wretched old dresser.

  They had to work fast. She was promising more than was reasonable in one short episode, no matter how the final product was edited. The drawer went smoothly enough because it was nailed together, not dovetailed like fine old furniture.

  “As you can see, the knobs are in bad shape,” she said, introducing the next step. “Zack, how would you go about removing the old ones?”

  He’d use an electric screwdriver, but the script called for a manual one. He got down on his knees to remove the one she’d indicated.

  It stuck. He sat on the floor and strained to turn the corroded old screw from inside the front of the drawer while the camera hovered, watching him sweat.

  “Zack’s not up to full strength today.” She joked to cover the delay.

  He gave her a malevolent glance and dug at the wood next to the screw with the tip of the tool. It was mealy, confirming his low opinion of the dresser. He gouged some more and managed to extract the screw.

  Megan gave him her hand and pulled him to his feet. Next she’d be patting his old gray head and recommending a rest home.

  He got through the remainder of the show. No question, she’d looked a whole lot better than he did on this episode.

  “Thanks, Zack,” she said for his ears only.

  “It’s in my contract,” he said morosely. “Good luck with the Happy Living people.”

  “Good Living.”

  “Won’t Gunderdorf make you work out your contract here?” He felt a glimmer of hope.

  “That’s not how it works. If they want the show—if—they’ll buy up my contract along with rights to the show. Gunderdorf will make out very nicely, plus he’ll get the prestige of moving one of his shows to the national level.”

  “Well, if that’s what you want, I hope things work out.”

  He stalked out of there, not even bothering to take off the ridiculous T-shirt.

  By the end of the workweek, Megan thought she’d have kittens before Gunderdorf’s lawyers, and the Good Living Network finished their negotiations. They wanted the show, and they wanted her.

  The only issue was money, that and Zack’s contract. They seemed to think he’d object to being written out and paid off. She knew he’d be delighted to get out of more appearances, but no one asked her. It was the oddest sensation she’d ever experienced, waiting for other people to determine the course her life would take.

  The Good Living Network could put her at the pinnacle of her career. She could start concentrating on the other things she wanted—a loving husband and children. She couldn’t allow herself to think about Zack. He didn’t want a wife, and he didn’t want her. She’d worked long and hard for this opportunity, but now that it was so close, she felt vaguely uneasy, not nearly as excited as she’d expected to be.

  She was ready to go home for the day when Ed came to her office and shut the door behind him.

  Was he there with bad news and didn’t want anyone to overhear her reaction? She braced herself.

  “It’s a wrap,” he said, grinning.

  “They’re buying the show?”

  “Sure are. Joe will go over the terms with you on Monday, but most you already know. You’ll have to move to New York City, of course, and Zack doesn’t figure into the new format.”

  “New format? I thought they liked my concept.”

  “They do, but the title is still up in the air. It will be their call. Lydia, your new executive producer, thought Do It Herself is a little cutesy.”

  “Cutesy? What else didn’t she like?”

  “Well, she’s enthusiastic about you. That’s what counts. They have a soap opera actor who’s auditioning for the role of your partner…”

  “Partner? I don’t want a co-host.”

  “Well, they’ll work something out. They liked the way you and Zack bounce off each other, but it’s a job for a professional actor.”

  She should feel elated. At last she’d be a personality on a national cable network. But what was this dull, hollow sensation in the pit of her stomach?

/>   “Thanks for telling me, Ed.”

  “More good news. The whole gang here at the studio wants to say goodbye in style.”

  “I’m not leaving yet.”

  This was happening too fast. Maybe she wasn’t as ready as she’d thought.

  “You’ll be out of here soon,” Ed said. “The New York team doesn’t waste time. Anyway, we’re having a big party for you tomorrow night. Call it a celebration of your new job if you like. Even Mr. G. will be there. I’ll get back to you on the time and place. Congratulations, little sis.”

  He kissed her forehead. Ed was usually as demonstrative as the Sphinx. She had to fight an unaccountable urge to weep.

  “Thanks, Ed.”

  Saturday came too soon. Megan put on her little black party dress and drove herself to Roma’s Ristorante, but she didn’t feel ready to say goodbye to her co-workers. She was going to miss them all, even Brad, who did everything in slow motion.

  She made her way to the private room in the rear, wondering how Ed had put together the celebration on such short notice. She’d be willing to bet Roma’s would be getting a bargain rate on some airtime.

  Everyone was there ahead of her. She walked into a room with streamers hanging from the ceiling and Mr. Gunderdorf, all five feet, two inches of him, holding court by a portable bar. The Bulgarian chef was behind him, trying to edge closer, and the dog man was nipping at his heels. Who would be the lucky one to get her time spot?

  She made her way toward her boss, exchanging hugs along the way. Brad surprised her with a robust squeeze that was more than borderline cheeky. Mr. Gunderdorf rescued her.

  “Megan, I’m very proud of you,” he said warmly.

  He might be short, but he was elegant in a dove-gray suit made by the Leonardo of Italian tailors. His carefully sculpted hair reminded her of someone—yes, Marsh Bailey. They both made growing old look good.

  People continued enthusing over her opportunity, but she knew she’d be there for next week’s show. She didn’t feel ready for goodbyes yet.

  The person she really wanted to talk to was nowhere in sight. She circulated, her eyes never straying from the door for long. Certainly Zack had been invited. Where was he?

  The huge Italian buffet covered four big tables against the back wall. Her nephew, Jason, was first in line and grabbing stuff willy nilly. Megan looked around for his keepers, but Ed was deep in conversation with Gunderdorf. Her grandfather was talking with a flame-haired woman she didn’t recognize—maybe someone connected with the restaurant—and they looked too chummy to interrupt.

  Georgia, slightly pudgy but still striking with blond hair upswept and a floor-length plum-colored dress, was having an animated conversation with the Bulgarian chef. She was trying to sell him on making her chocolate-marshmallow-cookie torte on his show, great publicity for her book if she ever finished it.

  Megan had decided to tackle the kid with the spaghetti necktie herself before he got creative with something hotter and messier when Zack walked up to her.

  “Are you sure you want kids?” he asked, nodding at Jason, who was twirling another strand of spaghetti.

  “Yes. Don’t you?”

  “Not in the foreseeable future. I don’t think I’d be a very good father.”

  He’d make a wonderful father, but she couldn’t tell him that.

  “Aunt Megan. Look what I made.”

  Jason, towheaded and dimpled like a kindergarten angel, was waving a spaghetti lariat, several strands of warm pasta mushed together.

  “Come on,” Zack said. “Let’s find someplace private to talk.”

  He took her hand and pulled her down a back corridor with restrooms and an emergency exit. Zack looked around and saw a pylon the custodian used when the floor was wet.

  “Anyone in here?” he called into the women’s room, then declared it unoccupied.

  He dropped the pylon in front of the door, flipped over the wooden Women plaque hanging on a chain, and pulled her into the restroom.

  “You can’t come in here.”

  “I just did.”

  “People will want to get in.”

  “There’s another one in front.”

  He leaned against the door while Jason rattled the handle and called her name.

  “Shush,” Zack said, laying a finger across her lips.

  She could hear the plastic pylon thudding in front of the door.

  “Clever kid. Trying to use it like a pogo stick,” Zack said.

  There was a sudden silence, more ominous than Jason’s noisy antics.

  “I’m mad at you, Aunt Megan. I don’t like you anymore.”

  She started to go after him, but Zack was still blocking the door.

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “I guess.” She wanted to be with Zack, not babysit.

  “We have to talk about our engagement,” he said.

  “Oh, that.”

  She feigned indifference, but her heart was doing crazy flip-flops.

  “I couldn’t be engaged to a nicer person,” he said. “I’m really happy for you. You’ll wow ’em in New York.”

  “I’m not so sure…”

  “I’ve tried and tried to tell Marsh I’m not husband material. Just because Cole is high on being married doesn’t mean it would work for me. I think deep down he always wanted that kind of permanence. I’m more realistic.”

  “That’s a strange kind of realism.”

  She didn’t want to hear more. Whatever he had to say, she was pretty sure it would hurt.

  Someone pounded on the door he was holding shut.

  “Go away,” he shouted.

  “You can’t hold the fort here much longer,” she warned.

  “I don’t have that much more to say, just wish you luck. I’m too much like my birth father to offer anything else. He wasn’t one to stick around, either.”

  She looked at the fancy pink sink and the coral tiles surrounding it. This wasn’t the kind of goodbye party she’d expected.

  “I take it you’re breaking our engagement,” she said dryly.

  “You’re leaving me,” he said grimly.

  “What about your grandfather?”

  “He’ll have to understand. You’re putting your career first and running off to New York. I’ll be so brokenhearted I won’t want anything to do with women—at least not until Tess has her baby. I just found out I’m going to be an uncle.”

  “Congratulations, but you’re making me sound terrible. If I loved someone, and he loved me, I’d never leave.”

  He had the grace to look distressed, but it wasn’t enough.

  “What will your mother think? You’re making me look shallow, self-centered…”

  “You’re neither of those. Anyway, Mom is thrilled at the prospect of being a grandmother. She can handle a broken engagement.”

  “I hate being the bad guy.”

  “You’re not. Anyway, Marsh never entirely bought our act. He doesn’t think you like me much.”

  “Well, he’s right. I can’t believe I wanted your advice.”

  “On what?”

  She tried not to look at his one raised eyebrow or the way his eyes narrowed.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No, tell me.”

  “Let me out of here.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s worrying you.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and looked ready to block her way indefinitely.

  “I’ve been mulling over the offer for my show. They’re not giving me much control over it. Already they’re auditioning a soap opera actor to be my partner. It’s not going to be the same show.”

  “It’s your big chance,” he said. “The better your ratings on the new network, the more say you’ll have. It’s natural to have some doubts about a big move like this.”

  He was so damn right, but this wasn’t the response she longed to hear. The way she’d imagined it, he was supposed to admit he loved her and beg her to stay.

&nb
sp; “I guess we should go to the buffet now,” she said, instead of telling him how she really felt.

  “I’m not staying for dinner,” he murmured. “Tonight is all yours. I don’t belong here—never did. You enjoy.”

  Yeah, enjoy.

  How could she, when she was the least excited person in the room? She was going because there was no reason not to.

  “Go. Have a good life,” he said, touching her forehead with his lips.

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  Say you love me. Don’t let me go. A little voice in her head was going bonkers.

  “Don’t forget how to install floating shelves.”

  He opened the door enough to slip out. She heard a clatter as he left.

  He’d kicked the custodian’s pylon down the corridor.

  12

  “What do you mean you’re not going?” Ed bounded around his desk so fast his shoulder knocked a whole row of framed football photos into a crooked jumble.

  “I’m not signing with the Good Living Network,” Megan said. “They want a blonde who talks, not the person I am. I could be stuck doing anything they dream up—crocodile wrestling, home surgery, assault weapons for women. Their contract takes away my freedom.”

  She knew this was going to be Black Monday in the studio, and she really felt bad about Ed’s disappointment. Her move up would’ve looked great on his resume if he ever wanted to activate it.

  “The lawyers will be here at eleven. It’s all set,” he insisted.

  “No, I told Mr. Gunderdorf to cancel.”

  “How did he take it?”

  “Pretty well, all things considered. He wants to keep Do It Herself in the same time slot if Zack will still make occasional appearances.”

  “We’re toast,” Ed said glumly, pacing his tiny office and knocking another row of football stuff off-kilter. “Unless I can convince Bailey to—”

  “No.”

  “I’m sure we can come up with something if we put our heads together.”

  “Please, please, please, leave Zack to me,” she pleaded.

  “Well, if you think…”

  “I definitely do. I’m sorry, Ed. You worked hard getting the opportunity for me. It was a wonderful party, too. I don’t know how to thank you.”