Eric smiled at her as she tugged him inside by the arm and closed the door. “Am I imagining things, or are you actually glad to see me?”
“Damn right I’m glad. That journalist I told you about is prowling around the set, just dying to talk to us. Let’s go get it over with.”
“Right.” Eric looked amused. “Give me a moment to put on my adoring face.” He turned away from her, putting his hands over his face and mumbling some kind of incantation. Then he whipped back to her, his “I worship you” expression firmly in place.
“Very funny,” said Monica, though she was amused. “What’s next? Changing into your Superman tights in a phone booth?”
“Do they still have phone booths in New York?”
“Good question. Now put your arm around my waist.”
“Your wish is my command.”
Eric put his arm around her waist, and Monica put her arm around his. She could feel the hardness of his flesh through the lightweight material of his tennis shirt and resisted the urge to run her hand up and down his side. “Let me do the talking,” she said. “I’ve dealt with this woman before.”
“Jesus, you’re bossy.” He paused. “Your waist is so tiny,” he marveled.
“I don’t eat,” Monica confessed.
He seemed for the first time to notice that she was in a white lab coat. “What’s up with the coat?”
Monica sighed. “Roxie is posing as a doctor. She’s going to slip into the hospital and try to kill Grayson’s father.”
“Excellent! He deserves it, the lying bastard. The way he’s had no sympathy since Grayson was paralyzed—”
“Eric.” Monica felt a wave of pressure threatening to push her eyes from their sockets. “It’s time to put Fan Boy away, okay? I need you to be Boyfriend Man.”
“No prob.” He opened Monica’s dressing room door. “Shall we?”
“Eric Mitchell. Enchante.”
Eric reached out to shake Carolyn Shields’s plump hand, keeping his other hand firmly around Monica’s tiny waist. He wasn’t sure what he expected the journalist to look like, but this wasn’t it: the woman’s thinning hair was dyed raven black, her eyebrows painted on to look like teacup handles. She looked kinda, well, insane.
Monica was smiling at the woman as if they were old friends, though Eric was astute enough to pick up the subtle tension between them. The woman must have dissed Monica in print. The thought ticked him off.
“So here we are,” Monica said gaily to Carolyn. “What would you like to know?”
“Well, obviously, everyone knows you two met when Eric here was doing his cameo—which by the way, was fantastic.”
“Yeah? You think so?” The compliment pleased Eric, especially since his teammates had laughed so hard watching him he thought half of them might wet themselves. He’d gotten all the ribbing he’d expected from them and more. But it was worth it; the envy had outweighed the derision.
“Oh yes, you were wonderful,” Carolyn was gushing, but she wasn’t even looking at him as she spoke; instead, she was staring hard at Monica. “You’re quite a good actor.”
Eric felt Monica’s arm tighten around his waist. For a moment, he feared Monica might dig her nails into him, since she couldn’t rake them across the writer’s puffy cheeks, even though she deserved it.
“Isn’t he?” Monica agreed. “We were all pretty amazed.”
“So, lovebirds, who approached whom first?”
“I approached her,” Eric said, even though Monica had opened her mouth to speak. He wasn’t a complete dolt; he could handle questions like these. “I’ve been a fan for a long time. I had to tell her.”
“It was very sweet,” Monica continued, glancing up at him with a happy smile. How did she get her eyes to dance that way? Eric wondered. It was starting to unnerve him a bit, how real this thing could appear sometimes.
“He was very shy at first, which was surprising, given his rep.”
“Yes, the consummate ladies’ man, I hear,” said Carolyn, licking her lips hungrily as she looked him over before scribbling on her reporter’s notepad. Eric felt a shudder pass through him. He didn’t mind when hot babes dug him. But when forty-something women with crayola eyebrows gave him the once-over, it weirded him out.
Carolyn glanced back up at him. “Obviously, Monica is gorgeous. But what, beyond her physical attributes, attracted you to her?”
“She’s smart and funny,” said Eric, pausing to tenderly kiss Monica’s cheek. “And she’s very cultured. She’s teaching me a lot.”
Eric felt a nail dig into his side. Time to shut up.
“What about?” Carolyn purred.
“Theater,” Monica interjected. “Art. Though mainly we just enjoy each other’s company, you know? Talking. Laughing. We’re still in the getting-to-know-each-other phase.”
“Mmm.” Scribble, scribble. Carolyn cocked a fake eyebrow. “Is Monica the woman who might tame you, Eric?”
“Could be,” said Eric with a wink. Tame him? What did she think he was? A circus lion?
“Do you need any more?” Monica asked Carolyn sweetly. “I have to be on the set soon.”
“One more,” Carolyn said tartly. She turned to Eric. “You said you’re a longtime fan of the show?”
“Yup.”
“What do you think of the new character, Paige?”
“I think she can’t act her way out of a paper bag,” Eric said without hesitation. He glanced at Monica; she looked uncomfortable. “Everyone on the Blades agrees,” he added, hoping it would back up his observation. “We all watch the show.”
“Interesting.” Carolyn looked at Monica. “That should do it—for now. Will you be available if I need to ask any further questions?”
“Of course,” Monica said graciously. “Just call my personal publicist, Theresa Dante. I prefer working through her than the publicist for the show.”
Carolyn nodded. “Would you two mind posing for a picture?”
“Our pleasure,” said Monica.
“Roddy! Over here!” Carolyn boomed.
A nervous, clean-cut-looking young guy hustled to Carolyn’s side. Monica obviously knew him; her face lit up when she saw him.
“Hi, Roddy,” she said. “How are you?”
“Great,” Roddy replied.
Monica turned to Eric. “Roddy’s been with Soap World three years now. He takes great pictures.”
“That’s good to know.” Eric held out his hand. “Eric Mitchell.”
“Nice to meet you. You’re a lucky man.”
“Don’t I know it.”
At Roddy’s command, Eric posed with Monica. He was starting to like posing with her. It was fun.
“When is this going to run?” Monica asked Carolyn.
“Next week, hopefully. We might want a longer feature at some point in the future—if you two manage to go the distance.”
Eric and Monica chuckled in unison, as if Carolyn’s inference that their relationship might be a short-term thing was absurd. It did make Eric think back to their earlier conversation about who should eventually dump whom. He was of the mind now that it should be mutual. That way they’d both save face.
“Thanks for your time,” Carolyn sniffed.
“Anytime,” said Monica.
Eric and she watched her make her way up to the control booth, mild-mannered Roddy in tow.
“What a bitch,” Eric murmured under his breath. He wasn’t surprised when Monica looked pleased that he said that.
Back in her dressing room with Eric after the shooting of her scenes were postponed by the delay of Wallace Mendelson, the actor who played Grayson’s father, Monica parsed the interview in her mind. The way Carolyn had commented on what a “good actor” Eric was—obviously she thought their whole relationship was bull. Perhaps she even suspected Monica of trying to counteract Carolyn’s obvious championing of Chesty. Monica decided she’d wait and see how Carolyn’s piece about her and Eric turned out. If it was snotty and full of insin
uation that they weren’t the real thing, more drastic action might need to be taken.
“How did I do?” Eric asked, settling down on the couch.
“Okay,” Monica said flatly.
“Just okay?”
“What was that ‘she’s teaching me a lot’ comment? It made me sound like Henry Higgins.”
“Who?”
“Henry Higgins? Pygmalion?”
Eric shrugged. “Don’t know it.”
“You don’t know Pygmalion?”
Eric looked annoyed. “Should I?”
Should he? Probably not. He was a jock, not a culture vulture. Though if Chim Chim had starred as Eliza Doolittle, it might be different. Even so, Monica again found herself admiring his lack of pretense. A lot of guys might have said, “Oh, yeah, right. Pygmalion, great play, Henry Higgins, ha-ha-ha.” Not Eric. He seemed perfectly comfortable with who he was.
“I thought I did pretty well,” Eric continued.
“Not to nitpick, but I also could have done without the comment you made about my costar’s acting, too. Carolyn probably thinks it’s a line I fed you.”
“She can think what she wants,” said Eric. “That new girl blows.”
“I agree.” Monica sighed. “Sorry if I seem pissy. I just find Carolyn really, really annoying.”
“She doesn’t seem to like you very much.”
“I know, and I don’t know why! I’ve never been anything but gracious to her!”
“Jealousy,” Eric declared.
“That’s very sweet of you.”
A knock sounded at the door. Gloria, no doubt, come to feast her eyes on Eric. She’d been badgering Monica about him since the dinner at the Temple of Dendur. Had they made the “beast with two backs” yet? Was he wining her, dining her, letting her run her hands up and down his rippling six-pack abs? Monica told her it was a faux relationship, figuring that if anyone would understand, it was Gloria, who’d supposedly once staged her own kidnapping back in her glory days. Gloria didn’t seem to care. As long as Monica was getting some “satisfaction” from the Adonis on skates, that was all that mattered.
“Come in,” Monica called.
The door swung open. “Hiiiii.”
Chesty, not Gloria. “Can I come in?” Chessy asked demurely.
Monica wondered what would happen if she said “No.”
“Of course,” said Monica.
Chessy floated inside like a fairy princess entering an enchanted garden. “Oh,” she said breathlessly.
Oh yourself, you brain-dead twit, thought Monica. “Chessy, this is my boyfriend, Eric.”
“That’s why I’m he-ere,” Chessy sang. “I wanted to meet my favorite hockey player ever.”
Monica glanced around, looking for a garbage pail she could throw up into. Eric started to rise from the couch, but Chessy waved him back down. “Oh, don’t get up,” Chessy said. “There’s no need.”
Eric sat back down as Chessy came slinking over to him. From Cinderella to vamp in three seconds flat. Maybe she could act after all.
“I’m Chessy,” she said breathily, leaning so far over him that her boobs were practically touching Eric’s face.
“Uh . . .” Eric appeared too stunned to speak. When Chessy stood back up, Monica caught the gleam of lust in Eric’s eyes. She was certain that if he parted his lips, he might drool on himself. Pissed, she turned to Chesty.
“Shouldn’t you be on the set?” Monica asked sharply.
“In two,” said Chessy. “But I wanted to make sure I met Eric in case he was leaving soon.” She glanced back and forth between Monica and Eric. “We should all go out sometime. It would be fun.”
Oh, yeah, thought Monica. As enjoyable as an enema. “Would you mind leaving Eric and me alone now?” she murmured, perching on the arm of the couch so she could run her fingers through Eric’s hair. “We have some things we need to talk about, if you know what I mean.”
Chessy flashed a terse smile. “Of course.” Her eyes moved to Eric. “It was so great to meet you,” she said in a low, kittenish voice. “I’m sure we’ll cross paths again sometime.”
“Sure,” said Eric, sounding slightly dazed.
“Au revoir,” said Chessy, blowing a kiss.
Monica forced a smile and waited for the door to close.
“Ow! What the hell are you pulling my hair for?!”
Eric looked upset as Monica released the hank of his hair she’d twisted around her knuckles. The second Monica estimated Chesty was out of hearing range, she’d given Eric’s locks a good yank, since her hand was in his hair anyway.
“How stupid are you?” Monica hissed.
“What?” Eric asked confusedly.
“We’re supposed to be a couple, remember? But there you were, ogling the silicone twins.”
“I was not ogling. I was appreciating.”
“You’re my boyfriend! You shouldn’t be appreciating anything but me!”
“But I’m not really your boyfriend!” Eric protested.
“But you’re supposed to act like you are!”
“Well, even guys who are part of a couple sometimes look,” Eric insisted.
“Not when they’re with me,” Monica said with a glare. She made a beeline for the bathrobe she kept hanging on the back of the door, digging out the one pack of cigarettes she kept stashed in one of the pockets. She knew it was bad, but she’d started smoking again—not a lot, just one or two a day to get her through. Eric looked horrified as she lit up.
“Don’t say it, because I don’t want to hear it,” she warned him.
Eric was silent.
“If people are going to believe we’re together, you can’t stare at other women’s boobs!”
“She shoved them in my face!”
“No kidding.” Monica snorted. “I half expected her to offer to nurse you.”
“That is totally gross.” Eric coughed. “I can’t breathe.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Monica, snuffing out her cigarette. “Better?”
“Much.” Eric paused. He smiled slyly. “It really bothered you, didn’t it?”
“What really bothered me?”
“My finding Chessy attractive.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“It’s okay, you can admit it. In fact, it would be highly unusual if you hadn’t developed a little crush on me by now.” He leaned toward her. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
Monica had never slugged anyone in her life, which is why, when she took aim at Eric, she wound up landing a blow to the side of his head and not his face, the way she intended. Eric recoiled, staring at her like she was nuts.
“Jesus Christ! What is wrong with you?! Do you beat up all your boyfriends this way?”
“Only the smug egomaniacs.” Monica couldn’t believe how irate she was. Beneath the lab coat, her chest was heaving. “Let’s get something straight: I am not bothered in the least that you find that top-heavy little spider attractive. In fact, I find it a little sad. But it does bother me when you say or do something that plants even the smallest seed of doubt in someone’s mind that what we have isn’t real. So do me a favor: the next time Chesty or some other mewling little imbecile throws herself at you when you’re with me, keep your eyes in your head, your tongue from hanging out of your mouth, and”—her eyes flicked to his crotch—“Little Eric in place. Got it?”
“Chesty?” Eric hooted. “You call her Chesty?”
“Shit,” Monica muttered.
“I have to tell the guys that.”
“You do, and you die.”
“I’ll pretend I made it up myself.”
Remorse swept over her as Eric rubbed the side of his head. Maybe she was crazy. She put an apologetic hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I took a swing at you.”
“It’s okay. I kind of liked it.” His smile was tentative. Was he flirting? She contemplated fishing the barely smoked cigarette out of the ashtray and lighting it up. Her mind was turning into one big m
aze of confusion.
Monica stood. “C’mon. I should probably get down to the set.”
“Can I just stand on the sidelines and watch?”
“As long as you don’t get in the way of the technicians, that should be okay. And if Carolyn corners you in between scenes with any questions about us, just tell her you’re not comfortable talking about it any further, okay?”
“Gotcha.” He rubbed the side of his head. “Not bad for a girl.”
Monica smiled.
EIGHT
ROXIE (ENTERING TUCKER LAMONT’S HOSPITAL ROOM): Hello, Tucker. Enjoying your hospital stay?
TUCKER (HORRIFIED): Roxie! How did you get in here? There are supposed to be guards outside the room!
ROXIE: You’d be amazed at what a little cold, hard cash can buy. (SHE APPROACHES THE BED AS TUCKER FUMBLES FOR WHAT LOOKS LIKE A REMOTE CONTROL.) Don’t waste your time trying to ring for the nurse. That connection was cut hours ago.
TUCKER (SHRINKING BACK AGAINST THE PILLOWS): What do you want, Roxie?
ROXIE: For Grayson to walk again. But that’s never going to happen as long as—”
Wallace Mendelson, who’d been playing Tucker Lamont for three decades, opened his eyes wide in surprise. A millisecond later, he closed them as his head lolled to his left side.
“Cut!”
Jimmy the director came flying out of the control booth. “Jesus H, Wallace! You do that after Monica gives you the shot! You’ve still got five more lines! What the hell is wrong with you?” Wallace didn’t move. Jimmy thrust his head forward. “Wallace?”
Alarmed, Monica gently patted Wallace’s cheeks. No response. She jostled his arm. No response. She glanced up at her director uneasily. “Um . . .”
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