by Mel Curtis
And then he’d gone and shown her a glimpse of his human side when he’d been exasperated by the Avenger’s treatment of his tiny poodle. Maddy was touched, especially when she’d caught a glimpse of his SUV – marked with a shaving cream phallus and an Avenger thong. Nasty stuff, that. It would make great television.
The Rules were going to review the talent contract.
The earthquake became more severe. She could barely hold onto the wheel.
What if they signed? Maddy wasn’t ready. Her camera was in hock, along with a pair of wireless microphones. She hadn’t thought about where they’d shoot or created a shot list to detail what were must-haves for her sizzle reel. She didn’t have buy-in from Blue’s Avengers.
What if they refused to participate?
Don’t worry. Don’t-don’t-don’t.
Poppa Bert used to say worrying didn’t fix anything.
The only thing she’d done was write a proposal, which she’d submitted online to the Writers Guild of America as well as the TV Writers Vault. A registered idea was a protected idea. Or so she’d learned when she hadn’t registered the proposal Dave had stolen. And once the proposal was out there, she had to produce something to sell. Otherwise, some dick, like Dave, would propose something just different enough from her idea that it’d be a legitimate alternative. Time was her enemy.
The earthquake moved up her arms until Maddy feared she’d plow into the next BMW that cut in front of her.
She needed food. She needed caffeine. She needed to vomit.
Maddy took a hard right into a supermarket parking lot and claimed a space so far out no one else was nearby. A few minutes later, bolstered by an emergency trip to the bathroom, a Diet Pepsi, and pork rinds, Maddy returned to her car on less rubbery legs and started making a to-do list.
Maddy’s biggest problem was the lack of funds. She couldn’t afford to pay off the pawn broker for her camera and pay her rent. She couldn’t borrow from Vera, because her roommate spent all her spare money on clothes. The only items Maddy had left to pawn were Poppa Bert’s World War II photo albums. His flat feet had disqualified him for the Army Infantry, but his skill with a camera had put him on the front lines. If this project failed and she couldn’t retrieve the albums from the pawn shop, she’d be heartbroken and her dad would have a heart attack.
It was a huge gamble and Maddy didn’t feel any more confident when she put the two photo albums on the counter of Pawning for the Dream on the less glamorous side of Hollywood.
“Shit, Maddy. Who died?” The irony of her life was that she was on a first name basis with the pawn shop’s owner, Juan. He tugged down his MIB – Mexican-In-Black – T-shirt as he leaned in closer to inspect the worn, leather bound albums. “Seriously, are your parents okay?”
Maddy couldn’t look Juan in the eye as she held out her pawn ticket. “I need my camera equipment.”
“Not Poppa Bert’s albums.” Juan had refused the albums last year when things were particularly grim. “You don’t know how bad I want these, but I’m not going to loan you money for one of Dave’s lame ideas. You’re betting on the wrong hand, chica.”
“Dave and I aren’t working together anymore. I need my equipment and some cash. I’m doing a sizzle reel about the Playboy Avengers.” She said it out loud to drown out what her mother was saying in her head, “Sell a project? You’ve got a better chance of seeing the Virgin Mary in a bowl of chow mein.”
Juan stared at her for a long time, absently scratching his gray stubbled cheek. “I’m only giving you thirty days to get this out of hock. Promises break. Sizzle reels fizzle. Development deals fall apart. This is your grandfather’s life work and there are collectors in town that will be at my door on day thirty-one if you don’t pay.”
Maddy’s stomach sickened at the overwhelming odds. She only hoped Poppa Bert would approve.
God knew her parents wouldn’t.
“This is the one, Juan.” Maddy was all in.
She hoped to heaven Blue Rule was all in, too.
Blue sat in eighty degrees of summer sunshine, chillingly exposed.
He and Winnie Tiegler were at The Ivy with only a white picket fence separating them from the sidewalk. Out in the open, an Avenger could easily inflict drive-by damage.
Every time a car pulled up to valet parking a measly ten feet away, Blue snapped to attention. Every time those parking turned out not to be Kaya or one of her celeb-thugs, he sunk back in his chair. To make matters worse, Winnie preened for the row of paparazzi across the street as if she was the day’s money shot.
Winnie’s Dooley Foundation file was rare – inches thick with scribbled, cryptic, useless notes in his father’s handwriting and a whole lot of doodles in the margin – a dog howling at the moon, a hot tub with hearts rising instead of bubbles, and a whole bunch of flowery drawings Blue couldn’t even begin to decipher.
Across the table from Blue, Winnie’s cleavage extended four inches before disappearing beneath the stretchy gold of her spaghetti strap blouse.
She caught the direction of his gaze. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Her chemically enhanced lips formed words almost without moving. “Cher and I go to the same plastic surgeon.”
“They’re…” Blue’s specially designed messenger bag twitched at his feet, momentarily distracting him. “…nice.” He could see the outline of Mr. Jiggles’ nose against the mesh side panel in the bag that allowed the poodle air. In the months since Dooley died, Blue had become fond of the coffee mug-size dog. He didn’t like leaving him cooped up.
When Winnie pursed her lips as if offended, Blue added, “Very nice. World class. Better than Cher’s.” The words dribbled out of his mouth as if he were dependent upon Winnie for his next paycheck.
Shit. That was very nearly true.
Winnie tittered, tossing her blond hair. “I pay my agent to flatter me to excess, not my Dooley Foundation life coach.” She sobered, reaching down to fiddle with an oversized designer briefcase at her feet. “I’m sorry, Blackie. Your father had a huge role in my continued happiness. I’ve given you time to grieve, but I live by the Rules and need your involvement in my life, now more than ever.”
“Sure.” By the size of Winnie’s file, his dad must have invested hours in her.
Ka-ching.
Blue had rarely spoken to Dooley in the past few years. It wasn’t only his childhood scars that had made him cut Dad from his life. It was too damn embarrassing to see his father dating his ex-girlfriends. He prayed none of the Avengers had received a double-dipping of Rule manhood. The only upside to that scenario was it validated Blue’s reasons for dumping the woman in the first place…assuming Blue’d been there first. He suppressed a shudder.
“Here’s to the Dooley Foundation.” Winnie clapped, the big gaudy rings on her fingers jangling against each other, drawing curious looks from other patrons. “You should be proud of the success your company has had in the last few months. My friends and I have been striving for one of Dooley’s Freedom Transformations. We’ve been unsuccessful so far and I feel it’s because there hasn’t been a Rule present.”
Blue’s stomach soured. His father may have turned his tough-love techniques and better-sex bullshit into marketable gems, but Blue didn’t believe he’d ever be able to use his dad’s principles to help anyone.
There were three million reasons he had to swallow his pride and do this.
No matter how often his head encouraged him, he couldn’t get himself to compromise.
“The Freedom Transformation is one of our most popular programs,” he said, assembling what he hoped was a trustworthy smile over his bluff-worthy statement.
Mr. Jiggles yapped as if calling him out.
Something in Winnie’s purse growled in answer. “Aren’t dogs wonderful, Blackie?”
“Blue. My name is Blue,” he muttered. Every time she called him Blackie, Blue’s right eye twitched. He resisted the urge to use his hand as an eye patch. “We can work on some transforma
tions now if you like.” He’d let her lead.
“Oh, my. You are wicked.” Winnie tittered again, reaching across the table to cup his cheek as if he were her latest lover.
Everything inside Blue demanded he pull back from her lavender-scented touch. But he held his ground and almost thought he heard Maddy’s genuine laughter. Maddy probably considered him a heartless Casanova. Wouldn’t knowing this aging star of the silver screen unnerved him burst Maddy’s bubble?
Winnie sighed and withdrew her hand. “But we’ll have to wait. I’m interested in a group session, Blackie. The group Freedom Transformation was one of your father’s greatest accomplishments before he passed. Since we’ve been having trouble and you’ve been unavailable, your office arranged for our session next week to be led by Senge Tenzing.”
Blue’s eye twitched more violently.
Not knowing what the transformation was other than something sexual, he’d referred Winnie to Senge, the founder of the hottest sex-ed studio in Hollywood, Wicked Tantric.
He’d never heard of his father doing group sex sessions. But then again, he didn’t know what his father had done to earn his living. Oh, he’d helped people – movie executives with anger issues, child stars with ego issues, unhappy Hollywood housewives. Dooley Rule just hadn’t left any directions on how he’d helped people. He’d only left his children the shell of his business, fading into obscurity and bankruptcy.
Some days Blue felt the tug of positive challenge in turning the Dooley Foundation around. Other days the idea that he was potentially carrying on his father’s legacy was barely palatable. Today fell into the latter category.
Winnie waved Blue off, making a show of adjusting her packages within her bra, while smiling at a much younger Survivor show has-been on the other side of The Ivy’s patio.
The wannabe celebrity rolled his eyes and made a caustic remark to the young blonde seated across from him. Blue couldn’t really blame the guy for making a joke of Winnie’s come-on.
I mean, come on. Act your age.
Winnie sagged from her penciled-in eyebrows to her silicone implants, gripping her wine glass like a support beam. Before Blue could try and smooth things over, his stressed out brain registered who the woman across the patio was: Jenny Quick. One of his exes.
Jenny glanced across the street at the clicking photographers, and then smiled at Blue as if she’d just tricked him into sex without a condom.
Jenny is an Avenger.
Gut-wringing dread crowded into his midsection, shimmying toward his bowels.
Blue signaled for the check. He had to get out of there before Jenny made a move.
Oh, she’d be indirect about it – latte in his lap compliments of the distracted waiter, slashed tires, keyed paint.
But what if they targeted Winnie?
She was practically defenseless.
“I’m hosting the session at my home,” Winnie was saying flatly. “A week from Tuesday. Nine o’clock. As the sun sets.”
“Just tell me what you need. I’ll be there.”
Recovering some of her joie de vivre at his agreement, Winnie smiled, leaning forward until her boobs nearly garnished the remains of her endive salad. “If you’re Dooley’s son, when you show up, you’ll know what to do.”
And Blue, who knew how to do a lot of things, began to worry.
After his lunch with Winnie, Blue drove over to the Flash’s headquarters for a meeting with the NBA team’s fiery owner, Jack Gordon.
He’d gotten a text that morning from His Fieriness requesting Blue’s presence. Things were looking up if Jack was getting in touch with Blue directly, especially on a Sunday. Hell, Sunday was turning out to be the best day of the week for business.
The Flash’s headquarters were housed in a renovated warehouse that doubled as their practice facility. Jack’s office spared no luxury – black leather sofas, big screen TV, carpet as thick as a mattress, fully stocked bar. Blue set Mr. Jiggles’ briefcase carrier on the floor near his seat.
After the pleasantries were over, Jack got right down to business. “I want you to find a man for my wife.”
The elation Blue had felt when he’d received Jack’s text dissipated like butter in a hot skillet. “Excuse me?”
“Vivian. She’s going to be my ex-wife as soon as I sign next season’s media deal with the NBA. I’ve been trying to shake her for close to two years now, but her lawyer keeps advising her to wait and see if the Flash is going to make the championships.”
The Flash had qualified for the playoffs both years the expansion team had been in existence. Their media stock was on the rise, as was Jack’s net worth.
“I’m not a matchmaker.”
“That’s not what your sister said on the phone this morning.”
Damn it, Amber.
“I help people with relationships.” Well, mostly Blue sent them to Wicked Tantric. Somehow, Blue’s father had solidified an agreement with Senge before the studio came on the celebrity radar. In Blue’s experience, hot sex could smooth even the most difficult relationship challenges.
Would the Flash’s owner still want him if he knew Blue was the Avenger’s target? He thought not.
“You’ll help me with this problem.” Jack’s voice was knife-edge sharp, honed from years of threat-backed, buzz kill. He slid a piece of paper across the desk. “Here’s her contact information. Who knows? Maybe you two will hit it off.”
Blue started to sweat. “I’m not going to marry her.”
“I’m not saying you have to, but you seem to date well and if she’s distracted, maybe I can get the divorce papers past her.”
“Mr. Gordon…Jack…I don’t think – ”
“I don’t pay the Dooley Foundation to think.” Jack pounded his desk with one fist. “I pay them to do. Now go find Viv a man!”
Her camera equipment safely stowed in the hall closet, Maddy sank into her lumpy couch with a mug of hot tea and the remote, refusing to think about Poppa Bert’s photo albums.
She cued up one of Dooley Rule’s DVDs. It was one he’d made about having the courage to chase your dreams.
An older, slightly pudgy man walked into the frame. Whoever had shot the film knew what he was doing with the lighting. She’d met Dooley Rule once on the set of a film she was working. He’d been hired by one of the principal actors. In real life he looked like the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man with his round, smiling face, jowly neck and pale skin. On this DVD, Dooley looked like a pink, beardless Santa everyone would love. Kudos to the cinematographer. “Do you have a dream? A goal in mind that you hold close to your heart?”
“Are you watching Dooley Rule again?” Vera came in from the gym, looking as put-together and unsweaty as when she’d left.
“I need inspiration.” Maddy paused the DVD.
Vera grabbed a Diet Pepsi from the fridge. “You mean you need a backbone.”
“That too.” Maddy hesitated, but decided to discuss the unexpected appearance of one. “Although…you should have seen me when Blue Rule came into the meeting. Something happened. It was like he pressed my on button and all of a sudden my anxiety disappeared. I was empowered.”
“Turned on by a handsome man. The irony.” Vera disappeared into her room. “Showering.”
When Maddy thought about Blue, her body hummed with unspent energy, as if it knew he was the key to her success.
Cue eye-roll. Maddy reeled herself back to reality and pressed play.
“Let me tell you about harnessing the power of your mind. I’ve helped thousands of celebrities and people just like you achieve their dreams,” Dooley continued. His face was so familiar to Maddy. Friendly, trusting. Nothing like Blue’s classically-cut features.
“In this DVD, you’ll learn about the Rules of Attraction and how to use the power of Choose, Voice, Trust, Welcome.”
“I choose to shower in silence,” Vera called from her bedroom.
“Okay, I’ll turn it down.” Maddy adjusted the volume until she could barel
y hear Dooley speak. It didn’t matter. She’d watched this particular DVD from the Dooley Foundation a hundred times. She fast forwarded through the rest of the introduction, through the day-in-the-life video of a teenage, overweight Amber, until she came to the part that mattered.
“First, you need to tell the universe what it is you want. That means say it out loud. Take a moment and give your dreams a voice.”
She paused the DVD and whispered, “I choose to become a successful television producer.” Now if only the Rules would choose her. She hit play.
“That’s beautiful. Now imagine that dream coming true. Imagine how it feels to reach that point of success. Put your hand over your heart and feel it. Hold onto that feeling. Recreate that feeling every morning when you wake up and every evening before you go to bed.” Dooley’s smile encouraged her to reach for the stars, while her father’s smile encouraged her to keep her feet firmly on the ground.
“And now welcome that feeling into your life. Surround yourself with pictures of your dream. Write your dream down on a sheet of paper. Drive past the place where you see your dream coming to life. Keep your dream with you at all times so that when an opportunity presents itself, you’re ready to take advantage of it.”
That’s just what she’d done this morning with the Playboy Avengers pitch. She smiled right back at Dooley.
“So here’s your bonus, friend. Usually only personal clients get this kind of advice. Gather in close.” The camera came in on a tight money shot. There were Dooley’s clear blue eyes, his soft features so trusting and loving. “You’re ready to take your first step up the ladder to your dreams. Tomorrow I want you to do something to make your dream happen. You could sign up for a class, tell your boss you’re interested in that new job that’s opening up, write a new resume. Whatever it is that you’ve been putting off – that’s what’s holding you back. But no longer. Because tomorrow is the first day of your new life.”
