by Diana Orgain
“Close your eyes,” Kyle said, tipping my chin up with his hands. “Don’t know. Don’t worry, doll face, I can do makeup better than anyone.”
• • • • • • • • •
When Kyle was satisfied with my “look,” I was taken to the set. There was a huge faux rock-climbing set over fifteen stories high; it was awe inspiring. The cast members were instructed to stand on a platform that was designed and painted to look as if we were outdoors, climbing the Marin Headlands with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. We waited while the safety crew set out commercial-grade air cushions and a safety net.
I noticed none of the technicians helping us this time had been present during our bungee-jump fiasco at the Golden Gate Bridge.
Cheryl pulled me aside. “I’d like you to flirt with each bachelor before they begin the climb. You can go last.”
“If I’m a good girl, you promise you’ll let me live?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I knew I’d said them.
Cheryl looked appropriately offended. “What?”
I shrugged. “Someone gave me a little shove off the bridge the other day. I sure am lucky my bungee wasn’t the one that failed.”
Her face turned beet red. “What do you mean? You were supposed to jump. We couldn’t wait all day for you.”
“It was you, then, right? A little push in the right direction?”
She leaned into my face and through clenched teeth said, “Listen, the authorities are looking into it. It was an equipment malfunction. The subcontractor is being served as we speak. Now, you’ll do as I say. Flirt, be cute and sexy, be someone America can love.”
I snorted. Someone America could love? I was barely someone a single man could love, let alone an entire nation.
Before I could reply Cheryl turned and started calling out places for the cast. Pietro was supposed to go first.
Pietro and I approached the faux rock wall. Silent fans were turned on and suddenly my hair was flipping about my face.
Pietro easily smoothed down my hair with his large hands, cradled my face, and looked me in the eyes. “Cara mia, I will climb to the top and proclaim your beauty for the entire world to hear.”
I smiled at him, completely disarmed by his handsome face.
“You promise me a glass of champagne, no?” he asked.
According to the producers, I’d have to eliminate someone that night at the cocktail party. In order for a bachelor to stay I had to offer him a glass of champagne. One man would not be offered a glass and would have to leave immediately.
“We’ll toast,” I said.
Pietro smiled, although he looked at me intensely. I nodded at him, hoping to reassure him that I’d find a place for us to talk.
He began his ascent up the rock wall.
My stomach clenched, despite the safety net below, and I had to look away. My heart pounded against my chest and I forced myself to calm down.
Pietro proceeded sure-footed up the wall, making it look easy. When he reached the top, he was greeted by two techs who pulled him onto the landing.
“That was amazing!” he said, his face flushed with excitement as he yelled down toward me.
“Cut,” Cheryl called.
“Can we do something about her?” Cheryl asked Kyle. “She looks green.”
Kyle shrugged. “Honey, I can fix green, but what about her expressions? I can’t do anything about that.”
I pressed my lips together to keep myself from shouting obscenities at them. Paul stepped into my range of sight. “Why don’t we film our moments with Georgia and then let her go have a coffee or something? She doesn’t have to watch us climb, right?”
Cheryl studied Paul a moment. She looked at him like a cat watching its prey: salivating and bloodthirsty. “Good idea, hunk. Let’s have her do her moments with everyone and then we can let the diva rest.”
I tensed. Did this mean I wouldn’t have to rock climb? The last thing I wanted to do was hover in the air, even over a safety net. At the same time that I felt relieved I was angry. Why did Paul have to speak up like that? Like I was some stupid little girl and he was my protector.
“I’m okay,” I lied.
Cheryl laughed. “Sure, honey, but what matters to the camera is how you look.” She held a hand up to ward off my argument. “And, listen, I’m being nice here. You don’t look okay.”
Scott, Edward, and Ty stepped up onto the platform.
“I think it’ll be for the best,” Edward said with a note of diplomacy in his voice.
“No one wants you to have another shock, sweetheart,” Ty said.
Paul crossed his arms over his chest, but only glared at me.
Scott shrugged and laughed. “I wouldn’t blame you for taking the easy way out.”
I stared at Scott. The easy way out? He was calling me a coward to my face.
“I’m not scared—”
Cheryl stepped in. “I make the decisions around here,” she snapped. “You all have your moments with her and then I want her off the set!”
The crew magically got into place and I found myself face-to-face with Edward. He made a bit of small talk with me and held my hand a moment. Cheryl ended the scene with Edward climbing into position on the rock wall.
Next was Ty. He said something about southern hospitality that I barely registered and then climbed onto the wall.
My scene with Paul was stopped and started several times because the techs were having problems with the wind fans. If they couldn’t get that right, what were the chances of everyone being unscathed from the climb? Safety net or not.
They finally had the fans back up and running. My hair was flying about my face and Paul reached out to pull a strand off my cheek. I grabbed his hand and, before I could check myself, begged, “Paul, please don’t climb it.”
He squeezed my hand and said, “Honey, I’m going to be fine.”
Hearing him call me honey constricted my throat and I felt a rush of emotion. I grabbed at his wrists, but he evaded me and climbed onto the rock wall.
Cheryl stopped the scene and called for Scott to take his place. Before he did she whispered something to him.
Scott approached me with the cameras still rolling.
“Wish me luck,” he said.
“Good—”
He reached around the back of my neck and pulled me into him. He pressed his lips eagerly to mine.
Was he only kissing me because Cheryl had told him to? When was she going to call “Cut”?
He released me. “Thank you. At least if I die now, I’ll die happy.”
Despite the fact that he was an awesome kisser, he’d definitely be the first to leave tonight. I couldn’t let his sex appeal distract me. Not to mention, he’d been callous about Aaron’s fall and likely he was probably in it for the money anyway.
Scott climbed onto the wall and made it halfway up before Cheryl ended the scene. He rappelled down the wall and stood next to me.
“I think we got what we need,” Cheryl said, looking to the crew for confirmation.
“We’ll film a picnic lunch later, where you all can celebrate your ‘amazing climbs.’” She made air quotes with her fingers, clearly wanting to emphasize how pathetic she thought we all were. She turned to leave.
Becca, who was huddled with a cameraman, called out, “Take a break, everyone.”
The cast and crew dispersed. I looked around for Pietro. Where was he? I hadn’t seen him since he finished the climb.
Scott joined me. “I’m sorry this isn’t actually a date. I’d love to spend more time with you.”
I laughed. “Yeah, right. Did she put you up to the kiss?”
“Who?”
“The producer. I saw you two whispering.”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who’d kiss someone if I didn’t want to?” he asked.
“You look like the kind of guy who wants—”
Paul stepped between us. “Hey, Georgia, can I get a moment?”
&nbs
p; Scott turned to me. “I’ll catch you later. We’ll drink some champagne.” He winked at me and walked off.
Paul lowered his voice. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“This way.” I guided him down the corridor toward my dressing room. “What are you doing here, Paul?”
“You know that I’m on task force 35.”
I eyed him. “So, you’ve been assigned? Is Aaron dead?”
“Not dead. Coma.”
“But it’s an open investigation?”
“You don’t think it was an accident, do you? Guy’s equipment malfunctioning like that.”
Nerves overtook my stomach and I struggled to identify whether it was because Paul was standing so close to me or because of what he was saying. “You think it was a setup?”
“Yes,” Paul said.
My breath caught in my throat. I thought about Teresa Valens. “Do you think it was intended for me?”
Paul looked surprised. “For you? Why?”
I shrugged nervously. “I think Teresa Valens is one of the makeup ladies.”
He stared at me. “That’s impossible. She’s incarcerated.”
“Can you see if she walked, got parole, appealed, something? I’m sure it’s her.”
He cleared his throat. “I’ll look into it. In the meantime, I need you to keep the guys who were on the first date around. Get rid of the surfer tonight.”
Anger burned the back of my throat even though I had a feeling that Nathan was in it for the money. “Why do I have to do that? I don’t have to follow your orders anymore.” Paul had always been domineering and expected me to follow lockstep. Well not any longer!
Paul’s face reddened. “I don’t know why you’re on this stupid show, Georgia.” He looked at his feet. “I’m just here . . . I’m here to make sure you don’t ruin your life.”
“You ruined my life when you left me standing me at the altar.”
Before he could respond, I pushed open the door to my dressing room. A piercing scream that I barely recognized as my own sprang from my body.
Inside the room, dangling from the ceiling fan with a noose around his neck, was Pietro.
Eight
“Stop screaming. Calm down,” Paul said.
The room seemed to do a strange imitation of a Tilt-A-Whirl ride and I felt like I was being shoved off. I grabbed at the chair nearest me but before I could cling to it for support, Paul took hold of me and ushered me out of the dressing room.
“Don’t touch anything. Out, out.”
“I . . . oh, my God . . . poor Pietro,” I cried.
As we emerged into the hall, Scott and Edward tore down the passageway toward us. “What’s happened?” they yelled.
“What’s going on?” Becca shouted. She was directly behind them, her sneakers with the green soles glowing in the darkened hallway. Behind Becca I could see a cowboy hat flapping in the air, and soon Ty had joined us in the hallway, too.
“What’s go on?” Ty asked.
Paul held up his hands. “Hold up, gang. We got a situation on our hands here. Becca, call police dispatch, tell them we got a 10-55.”
Scott and Edward both frowned at Paul and I realized his cover as an insurance guy was probably in jeopardy.
Becca’s eyes went wide. “What’s a 10-55?” she screeched.
“Never mind. Give me your phone,” Paul said.
Becca made a face. I knew she wasn’t supposed to let the contestants use any phones, but she didn’t seem to want to tangle with Paul. She unclipped her phone off her jeans and handed it to him with a grim face.
“Get Georgia out of here,” Paul said. He gestured toward Scott, Edward, and Ty. “And them, too.”
“I’m a doctor,” Edward said. “Is there something I can do?”
“This one’s too late for you, Doc.”
I whipped around, suddenly regaining myself. “Are you sure? We didn’t get him down. We just . . . no. Not we, you! You just closed the door on him!” My voice sounded too shrill in my ears. I reached for the door, some strange impulse in me demanding to know what Pietro had wanted to tell me, as if my reentering the room would magically make things different and he’d be alive again.
Paul stepped in my way before I could reach the doorknob. “Come on, G. You’re getting hysterical. You know the drill. Stay outta my crime scene.”
“What crime scene?” Scott asked. “Who’s in there? What’s going on?”
Paul ignored the battery of questions and dialed Becca’s phone. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand as if he was done with us and we were dismissed.
He mumbled something into the phone as I turned to the group. “It’s Pietro. He wanted to tell me something in private and now he’s dead, hanging by a noose from the ceiling fan.”
Becca gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth in shock.
Paul let out a roar so fierce, one would have thought I’d stabbed him. “Christ! Georgia!”
Scott stepped between Paul and me. “Hey, man. What’s going on? Why are you going all postal on her? She’s a former cop. She knows—”
At the word former Paul looked like he would come out of his skin and I knew it was all he could do to contain himself and not pounce on Scott.
“I thought you were an insurance guy,” Edward said. “Why are you acting so strange? Let us in the room, maybe I can help!”
“Back off now!” Paul said, enunciating every word. “No one leaves the building.” He glared at Becca. “Got that? Secure the premises. LAPD is on its way.”
• • • • • • • • •
In the break room it was as if someone had silently drawn battle lines. The contestants—Scott, Edward, Ty, and I—were in one corner, while the crew and producers were in another. While Scott, Edward, and Ty chatted among themselves, I took silent stock of the others.
Cheryl looked annoyed, acting like someone dying on her set was personally offensive.
Becca seemed rattled sitting next to the dragon lady and kept looking over at me and the cast. I knew in her heart she’d rather have been in our gang than in hers.
Kyle, the makeup artist, picked at his nails as he listened to Cheryl complain. He tsked in all the right places and looked completely sympathetic to her plight.
“Behind schedule again,” she shrieked.
The two cameramen, one a man on the larger side and the other on the smaller side, were fidgeting with their coffees and seemed generally impatient. Then there was the sound engineer, who had a Zen quality about him. His eyes were closed and he repeatedly stroked his black beard as if meditating.
At another table were a few interns and runners, all of whom looked like wet pups. They seemed to be listening attentively to one of the runners, a blond girl with multiple piercings in her eyebrow and tattoos down each arm, recant tales about her latest trip to Vegas.
Basically we were all hostage while waiting for LAPD to come and question us.
I wondered about access to the building. Could someone have slipped in and out without our knowledge?
“Where’s the other guy?” Ty asked. “What’s going on with him?”
He meant Paul, of course, but I ignored his question. If Paul had blown his cover it would be up to him to regain it. I didn’t need to be involved.
Edward’s hand brushed mine and we made eye contact. “Are you okay?” he mouthed.
How could I be okay with two accidents in the span of a few days, especially when I had the sickening sensation that they could be related to me? Was the woman I’d put behind bars, Teresa/Florencia, husband-killer, responsible?
Becca stood to refill her coffee cup. The counter was a good distance away from the group. Out of earshot, if we were careful. I sidled up next to her.
“I’m freaking out,” I whispered.
She grabbed my wrists. “I know!” she whispered back.
“What’s access to the building like?”
She frowned. “What do you mean? We all have key cards.”
> “Who’s we?”
“Everyone who works for the studio.”
“You mean, beyond everyone that’s here?” I asked.
She nodded. “Oh, yeah, there’s probably about fifty of us or more.”
“Do you have to use your key card when you go from one section of the building to the other?”
Becca shook her head, her auburn curls bouncing around like crazy. “No, only to come into the main building. This is a newish studio. They should have the dressing rooms and greenroom secured, but they were having problems with the wiring and stuff, so they made it general access.”
“Well, it’s something. LAPD will be able to pull the access records, see who all was in the building. Does Florencia have access to the building?”
“Sure. I looked her up last night, though.” Becca glanced at Cheryl to make sure we weren’t being monitored and then lowered her voice a notch. “I asked her hiring manager for a favor and she pulled her personnel file, said everything looked fine.”
I nodded. “Thank you. I’ll let Paul know. He can run a background check.”
At the mention of his name, Paul strode through the break room doors accompanied by two uniformed cops. The dragon lady jumped out of her chair as soon as she saw them.
“Well, it’s about time. You’ve had us all waiting forever! What is going on?” Cheryl demanded.
One of the officers stepped forward. “Sorry about that, ma’am. We have an unfortunate situation developing. We’ll be needing to speak to each of you individually. If you’d all please have your identification ready—”
“Wait a minute!” Cheryl shrieked. “You can’t come into my studio and start barking out orders—”
“You’ll never work in this town again,” I joked, imitating Cheryl’s voice and manner of speech.
Everyone laughed, except the dragon lady herself. She gave me a look that would freeze hell over.
One of the cops held the proverbial olive branch out to me. “Shall we start with you, miss?”
He may have been trying to save me from the dragon lady, but I felt like I was going straight from the frying pan into the fire.
• • • • • • • • •
The officer who escorted me down the hall into an empty room was tall and lean, probably in his midforties. He looked haggard and just as bitter as every other officer I’d served with. Paul followed us inside the room and took his usual cop stance, feet hip-width apart and arms folded across his chest.
