by Diana Orgain
“You got any bourbon?”
I laughed. “I know I’ve given you a shock, but my gut is telling me to stay. I have to figure out who killed Pietro and tried to kill Aaron or—”
“You don’t believe it was suicide?”
“No.”
“Well, isn’t Paul here to figure all that out?”
I fixed my dad with my best “I am woman; hear me roar” look.
“Oh, hell, Georgia, I know you can solve this, I just don’t want you hurt in the process.”
EXT. BEACH DAY
Nathan is in bright pink and orange surfer shorts. He is topless and sports a ripped six-pack of abs. He’s holding a surfboard in one hand and with the other he shades his eyes from the sun.
NATHAN
(big smile) Welcome to my office.
CHERYL (O.S.)
Is that what you call it?
NATHAN
Absolutely. I do some of my best work out here.
CHERYL (O.S.)
Do you?
NATHAN
Sure.
CHERYL (O.S.)
Work, I mean.
NATHAN
Sha. I surf.
CHERYL (O.S.)
So, you’re on the show for money?
NATHAN
(shoulders dropping and a look of extreme displeasure on his face) No. The big surf’s gonna come in and I’m going to ride it.
CHERYL (O.S.)
Are you saying, in fact, that you’re looking for love?
NATHAN
(big toothy smile) Yeah. I’m looking for a little surfer girl. (He breaks out into song.) Surfer girl, surfer girl . . .
• • • • • • • • •
The Lincoln Town Car ride was nice. I knew it was all for show. They needed to film me getting out of it—otherwise, they might have sent a Prius to pick me up—but as it was I was bound and determined to enjoy the ride.
Cheryl had arranged for a private room at MOCA, the Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles, to be ours for the evening. I was meeting Edward. We’d get to tour the museum at night alone and then enjoy a candlelit dinner.
I was so exhausted from the emotions of the carnival date that I just hoped the evening would go smoothly.
The car rolled to a stop and the driver got out. I expected him to come around and open my door, but instead the door opened to reveal Edward standing there.
“Good evening,” he said, offering his hand to me.
Butterflies danced in my stomach and I suddenly felt shy. I took his hand and stepped out.
He looked me up and down, taking in my citrine gown. It was strapless with a bow on the waist and a floor-sweeping hem. He pressed his lips to the back of my hand. “You look gorgeous,” he said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” I said, putting an arm through his as we walked toward the front door of the museum.
The downtown location’s sandstone building opened in the late 1980s to international acclaim. MOCA is the only museum in Los Angeles dedicated to contemporary art.
The building seemed too modern and plain for my taste, but as soon as we walked down the courtyard steps, I could see what the fuss had been about. The chief exhibition spaces downstairs were lit from above by groups of pyramidal skylights.
We walked down a corridor and into a large room that had high ceilings punctuated with those amazing skylights. In the center of the room was a table set for two complete with a three-tiered silver candelabra. It would have been incredibly romantic, minus the camera crew and production staff.
They were a constant reminder of what I was here to do.
Edward and I decided to tour the exhibits around the room.
On one side were marble statues in an array of sizes and colors and an astounding and almost frightening spectrum of emotions.
The first statue was a man in agony, or at least part of a man. It was a pair of hands and a torso and head, struggling to free himself from the surrounding marble. It was called Distress, and I certainly felt distressed as I gazed upon it.
“Wow, that’s something, huh?” I asked.
Edward chuckled. “Sort of how I felt in med school.”
I laughed, but didn’t want to say, “Sort of how I feel right now.”
We moved on to the next statue, a little boy with a baseball bat in his hand and a look of complete joy and rapture on his face.
“That’s more like it, right?” I said, looking up at Edward.
He smiled. “You want to have kids?”
“Sure, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Definitely.”
A warm, fuzzy feeling enveloped me as Edward put a hand on the small of my back and steered me toward the table in the center of the room.
He pulled out a chair for me.
“What manners!” I said.
“My mother would be horrified if she saw that I didn’t pull out a chair for a lady.”
“Especially on national television,” I teased.
“Exactly,” he said, taking a seat across from me. He examined the bottle of wine and then held it up for me to appreciate.
I wasn’t really the hippest wine expert, but I liked that he’d shown me the bottle. Paul had always selected the different varieties we drank, with no regard to what I thought.
“Are you a wine guy?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I know a little. This one is from Glen Ellen, so my guess is it’s gotta be good.”
I flashed back to my popcorn episode that afternoon and wondered if there was actually wine in the bottle or if it was just colored water.
Edward filled my glass and the fragrant earth scent reassured me that the wine was indeed real.
I swirled my wine and watched the wine legs form on the sides of my glass. “Tell me about your mom.”
He took the folded white napkin that was perched like a bird next to his wineglass and fanned it into his lap. “Ah, Mom! She’s something else. She raised me and my brother alone. Single-handedly.”
“No dad?” I asked.
“Dad walked out on us, while she was pregnant with my brother.”
I felt a little pull inside my chest as I watched his melancholic expression. “I’m sorry about that.”
He gave me a sad smile. “Men. Not reliable.”
“Some men are,” I said, thinking about my own dad.
“I’m glad you’re confident about that.”
I fiddled with my napkin, feeling uncomfortable. Edward was giving me a strange look.
Did he know I’d been stood up at the altar?
And if so, did he know it had been by Paul?
We carefully removed the silver platters covering our dishes to reveal delectable salmon slathered in a pesto and cream sauce.
“Looks delicious!” I glanced up at the camera that was closest to me. The lights were so bright by the camera that I couldn’t see anything beyond it. “Can we eat this?” I asked into the white light.
I was answered by a snicker.
Cheryl appeared between the cameras. “You can eat. Take a few bites, but for God’s sake, spice up the date a bit. You’ve got us bored to death.”
“What?” I asked.
“Sit closer to him. Flirt. Feminine wiles—you know. Figure out why he’s on the show. Grill him! Make it exciting for the viewer.”
“Are you saying I’m boring?”
“Exactly,” she answered.
I gave Edward a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”
He chuckled. “I share the blame. I suppose I’m equally boring, although for the record I want you to know that I wasn’t bored at all.”
We took a few tentative bites of dinner and drank some wine. I decided to go ahead and really sample the wine; after all, maybe it would loosen me up and I’d be more entertaining for the viewers—that, and the bottle of pinot noir was starting to open up and it was hard to pass up.
“Where do you want to live?” Edward asked suddenly.
“What do you mean?” I a
sked, caught a little off guard. The last thing I wanted to discuss on national television was all the reasons I wouldn’t be returning to San Francisco.
“Well, I work in the Bay Area. You’re happy in San Francisco, right? If we . . . if this . . . works out, then we’ll want to be geographically close to each other . . .”
“Frankly, I’ve lived in San Francisco for six years now and I find myself not really wanting to return.”
There was a disappointed look in his eyes and I struggled for something to say that would lift his spirits, but instead I said, “I grew up in Cottonwood. I think I’d like to raise a family in the country. On a farm.”
His eyes twinkled. “On a farm? Sounds idyllic.”
“In a lot of ways, it was.”
He remained silent, but reached out and began rubbing his thumb across my wrist, the unasked question hanging between us: What kind of career growth would a small, Podunk town offer a surgeon?
Edward broke the silence by pulling me to him and kissing me. His lips were full on mine and I felt a delicious warmth spread from my chest into my belly.
“Cut, got the kiss,” Cheryl yelled.
Edward pulled away from me, looking more than a little thwarted. “Oh, I . . . I was hoping we’d get longer.”
I glanced down at my almost untouched salmon dinner. “Me, too!”
“Come on, we need a shot of you all walking out to the car.”
My stomach grumbled as I bid adieu to a perfectly prepared gourmet meal that I wouldn’t get to eat.
Edward escorted me to the Town Car. I was expecting a good-night kiss, but instead of pressing his lips to mine, he embraced me.
His lips brushed against my ear and a chill tickled my spine when he whispered urgently, “I need to talk to you, Georgia.”
Fifteen
Edward’s words wrapped around my heart like a sea creature’s tentacles, digging and squeezing. My heart constricted and my breath caught.
He had something to tell me.
Just like Pietro!
I am in danger or he is in danger.
I grabbed at his neck. The camera was on us. I wanted to shout at them to leave us alone, but pressed my lips to Edward’s instead.
“What is it?” I asked desperately between kisses, hoping my hair was obstructing the camera angle enough so that no one would be able to tell what we were saying.
“Not now,” he said calmly. He stepped away from me and opened the car door. “Good night, Georgia.”
His eyes were locked on mine. He seemed to be telling me to forget it. To get into the car.
“I had a great time,” he prompted. “I hope you don’t make me wait too long for the next date.” He winked.
I nodded dumbly.
Date?
Is that code for something?
He tucked me into the car and then the driver was speeding away.
Darn!
I knew I couldn’t very well have a conversation with Edward then, but it was still frustrating and frightening as hell.
The Town Car pulled into the spot next to my Prevost coach. I thanked the driver and hurried inside the coach to change. I was hoping Becca would take me to a place where I could have some greasy pub food along with the aforementioned and promised cocktail. Edward and I had finished our “date” in record time and I, of course, found myself still hungry. A few small bites of salmon wouldn’t cut it for me for dinner.
I slipped out of the citrine gown and found that I could breathe again. These tight dresses had me holding my breath the entire time. But I knew better than to complain or they’d put me into a corset.
I grabbed a pair of my most comfortable jeans and sneakers and put them on. It was still early.
The telltale sound of gravel crunching around my Prevost alerted me that Becca was likely outside.
I peered through the blinds, just to confirm, and was rewarded by seeing my best friend practically skipping toward my door.
I flung open the door. “Why are you so happy?”
She laughed. “Am I?”
“You were floating across the parking lot.”
She waved a hand. “Are you ready? I’m dying for a drink. I’ll tell you on the way.”
I grabbed my small purse, which held my wallet, lipstick, and keys, then looked around. Without my phone I always felt like I was forgetting something. I shrugged. “Okay, I guess I’m ready.”
I locked the coach door, then followed Becca through the parking lot and side alley to her yellow Volkswagen Bug.
“So, what is it? Why are you glowing?”
She grinned. “It’s nothing really.” She shrugged. “It’s just that I got to flirt with Ty a little while you were on your carnival date and he’s hot.”
“Oh, really? Sparks and all?”
She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Yeah.” She started the car and maneuvered through the L.A. streets. “We have to keep it on the down-low, though, because I don’t want the barracuda hearing anything.”
I nodded. “Well, she won’t hear it from me.”
I filled Becca in on my date with Edward and how strangely it had ended.
“I wonder what he wants to tell you. Any idea?” she asked.
“No! I have to find a way to talk to him.”
“Well, don’t look at me.”
I bit my lip and fidgeted with her car radio.
“I’m probably gonna get busted for taking you out,” she said.
“Right. Right,” I mumbled.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said.
“Like what? I’m not even looking at you. I’m looking at the radio!”
“Whatever, but I know you’re all thinking, ‘Why can’t Becca help me?’”
“I’m not. I wasn’t. I know you’re not supposed to help me.”
She sighed. “I’ll see if I can get you time with Edward.”
I smiled.
She poked me. “Shut it.”
“I didn’t even say anything!” I protested.
“Anyway, we’re here now,” Becca said. “Look for parking.”
“Already? I was expecting traffic.”
“No, not at this hour. Plus I picked somewhere close because you have to get up early tomorrow.”
“Why do I have to get up early?”
“It’s the elimination.”
“Why can’t we do those in the evening?”
Becca found a tight spot and slipped her car into it. “Because you have two more dates tomorrow.”
“Why can’t they be the next day?” As soon as I’d said it, I knew I was being whiny and that Becca would call me on it.
“What? We’re made of money? You want a little cheese with that whine?”
I waved her off, but she persisted. “Do you know how much it costs to rent out the mansion? Plus it’s got a lot of issues. There’s an active leak and I don’t know how long we can stay.”
“Okay, okay,” I said as we got out of the car and walked toward a small bar. There was a neon sign that read POOL and lots of signage for domestic beers.
“But it’s not raining—how can a leak disrupt our filming schedule?”
Becca leaned into me as she pulled open the door to the bar. “Plumbing leak. It’s the upstairs bathrooms and it’s not the gray water, if you know what I mean.”
“Yuk!” I said.
She made a face. “I know.”
I shook my head at the irony. Hollywood would not delay a filming schedule due to a severe accident or suicide, but add in a little waste plumbing fiasco and everyone folded.
• • • • • • • • •
My eyes slowly adjusted to the dark bar. In the far corner was a pool table and alongside the bar was a wall that highlighted various celebrity headshots along with their autographs. We grabbed a seat at the bar. As soon as we ordered a couple of lemon drops, Becca took off to the ladies’ room to freshen up.
I was looking forward to relaxing with her and catching up on things. Like telling
her about seeing my dad and asking if she had an update on Teresa or maybe Aaron. Was he still in the hospital? Still in a coma?
I fiddled with my cocktail napkin as I wondered if there was a way to question Aaron. If he was still in a coma, it was unlikely, but if he was recovering maybe I could cash in a favor with an old coworker on SFPD and ask them to drop by and talk with him.
The bartender placed a chilled martini glass in front of me and one directly in front of the empty spot beside me. He poured the lemon drop from the shaker into the glasses. I was ready to lick the sugar from around the rim of the glass, but sensed someone approaching from behind me.
I straightened and turned, my old cop senses firing.
Scott was standing directly behind me. “Hey, fancy meeting you here.”
Ignoring the jolt of nervous energy that fluttered through my stomach, I said, “What are you doing here?” I asked.
“We followed you.”
“Who? Who is we?” I asked, searching over his shoulder for another familiar face and praying that I wouldn’t find my ex-fiancé, Paul.
“Ty and I.” He motioned with his arm toward where Becca had disappeared.
I could see Becca and Ty talking in the hallway that led to the restrooms. Ty was leaning in toward her, pinning her to the wall between his muscular arms. Becca was laughing at something he said.
“Oh,” I said.
“He likes her,” Scott said in a confidential tone.
I smiled. “I can see that. Looks like he’s going to eat her up on the spot.”
Scott laughed.
“So, do you think he’s on the show for the money?”
Scott wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Do you know who’s in it for the money? Can you just give me the names now and save me some grief?” I asked.
“I don’t know for sure, but I have some guesses.”
“You’re one of them, right?”
“Are you kidding? If I was in it for the money why would I be here?” He opened his hand to encompass the bar.
“To fool me,” I said.
“But I’m breaking the show’s rules right now. I’d be risking getting kicked off.”
“Well, look at Ty,” I answered.
He raised an eyebrow. “Right. Okay, but he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. Please let’s not compare me to him.”
I laughed and he smiled openly. He looked irresistible, so cute and smart and confident.
