Someday Soon

by Janelle Taylor

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s bound and determined to hang in there. It’s his nature.”

  “The less I see of him the better.”

  “Ain’t that the truth! Look, I gotta go. Meet me at my office tonight. I’ll be there at eight o’clock with Karen Walthers. She’s a publicity expert, and, honey, you need one! Bring the man of the hour, too. I’ll take care of the mess in Mr. Cramer’s yard. ‘Bye.”

  Cammie hung up the phone, wondering when she and Ty could safely leave.

  “The police are backing them off the driveway,” Bruce reported from his view at the edge of the windows.

  “Let’s face the music,” Tyler said.

  Both Cammie and Bruce gazed at him blankly. “What do you mean?” Cammie asked. “Now?”

  “It’s time to go out, make a statement and be done with it. Hiding in here makes me feel like a criminal.”

  “Shouldn’t you—check with a publicity specialist or something?” Bruce suggested.

  “Susannah wants us to meet with someone tonight,” Cammie informed him.

  Ty shook his head. “I can speak for myself. Let’s put this to bed.” Bestowing a faint smile on the woman he loved, he asked, “Care to be my right-hand woman?”

  Cammie shrugged her. shoulders. “I’m there,” she agreed, loving him for his courage.

  With that, Ty crooked his elbow and Cammie slipped her hand through his arm. Bruce led the way to the door, holding it open for them, and they strode onto the wide brick porch as one. A wave of noise and exclamations emanated from the retreating crowd. Instantly, they surged forward again, to be halted by several stern, immobile officers who guarded the drive. The insistent crowd clamored to move closer, but Ty, with Cammie firmly at his side, strode toward them.

  “Are you Tyler Stovall?” someone yelled, and into the sudden, expectant quiet that followed, Ty said simply, “Yes, I am.”

  Pandemonium ensued. Microphones waved and people pushed. The police could only hold the crowd back so far. It was Ty who lifted his arms and called for order, and eventually questions came thick and fast—a barrage worse than what had assaulted Cammie on her way in.

  “I have a statement,” Ty yelled above the commotion. “And it’s all I’m going to say.” He waited for the din to lessen a bit before speaking. “I chose to leave ten years ago for personal reasons: There’s no great mystery about it. Now, I’m ready to come back. Yes, I am talking to producers about a possible role, but nothing’s been decided yet.”

  Questions pounded from all sides.

  “Which producers?”

  “Where were you all this time?”

  “What have you been doing for a living?”

  “Are you romantically involved with Ms. Merrill?” someone shouted, louder than the rest.

  Though she knew how quickly information passed through the system, Cammie was still surprised they already knew her name. Ty tried to ignore the question, but the clamor broke out again. Throwing a glance at Cammie which could only be interpreted one way, he answered curtly, “Yes,” to which several microphones were quickly packed up and a section of the crowd sped away. First to get the news, Cammie thought with a twinge of disgust.

  “I would appreciate some privacy for my friend,” Ty glanced toward Bruce. “This is his home. If you want further information, contact my father, Samuel Stovall,” Ty added with a flash of inspiration. “He’s the man with the answers.”

  After that, Ty hustled Cammie back inside, and he, Cammie, and Bruce waited for the hubbub to die down. Hours later, when only a few scattered paparazzi hung at the end of the drive, Cammie and Ty left in her BMW, allowing the hungry, independent photographers to trail them to Susannah’s.

  Karen Walthers was a tall woman, topping six feet by Cammie’s estimations, and she held out a strong, welcoming hand as the two of them appeared in Susannah’s office. She was also very, very pregnant, and the sight of her beautiful, full body brought Cammie up short, reminding her of an emptiness she’d pushed aside in the midst of her happiness with Ty. With an effort, she pulled her thoughts away from the woman’s burgeoning girth and the life growing inside, instead concentrating hard on Susannah, whose wild curls looked even wilder, as if she were bristling with electricity.

  Sensitive to her swift change of moods, Ty asked, “What is it?” But Cammie shook her head. She couldn’t trust herself to talk about Karen’s pregnancy with any degree of control.

  A TV flickered at one end of the room, but the sound had been muted. Susannah glanced at the screen and said, “Karen’s been on the ball, getting rid of the mob, but you’re bound to be on the tube again later.”

  “Ty made a statement,” Cammie said.

  Karen and Susannah turned in surprise to Ty, who paraphrased what he’d said for the cameras. “Well, you’ll be all over the eleven o’clock news,” Karen said with a slight frown. Clearly, she wouldn’t have advised Ty to make a statement.

  “You two are an item?” Susannah questioned. To Cammie’s shy nod, she said, sounding a bit hurt, “You didn’t tell me!”

  “It’s rather—new,” Cammie defended herself lamely.

  “They put you on the spot,” Karen said to Ty, referring to the press. “Don’t let it happen again, if you can help it. You’re the main entree now, Mr. Stovall, as I’m sure you know, and they’ll twist and turn every syllable you utter.”

  “I know. I’ve been there before.” He exhaled heavily. “I knew it would be like this, but reality’s always a shock, isn’t it?” His mouth twisted into a smile. “Can you make it all go away?”

  Karen smiled back. “All I can do is ease the path.”

  “Good enough.”

  “The Connellys would like to talk with you as soon as possible,” Susannah informed Ty.

  “And I’d like to talk to them.” He gave her a sideways look, assessed her with lightning speed, and said, “As my agent, would you set it up?”

  Susannah grinned, a hand over her heart in delight. “Done.” She headed to the phone.

  “How serious are you two?” Karen wanted to know.

  Cammie and Ty looked at each other. Things were happening so fast, it took their collective breaths away. “Serious,” Ty admitted lightly, settling into a chair and tugging at Cammie’s hand so that she tumbled onto his lap.

  Susannah made a strangled sound that could have meant anything, but then Cammie saw her blinking back sudden tears. She sent Cammie a wobbly smile of happiness and gave her a thumb’s-up sign, then her attention snapped to whoever had answered at the other end of the line.

  Cammie’s brief moment of melancholy lifted. What was the matter with her? She had the world by the tail, for pete’s sake!

  Karen took out a pen and pad from her briefcase. “Okay, I’m going to set up a couple of interviews for you: Morning shows, late night, the works. We’ll work out a script, based on whatever you want the public to know. Be specific, but make your life sound tame. Don’t invite more speculation.”

  “Okay.”

  “Susannah tells me you were living in Bayrock, British Columbia. Do people there know you? Do they know who you are?”

  “They think I’m someone named Jerry Mercer. A Tyler Stovall look-alike.”

  “Then you’d better start telling them the truth. They’re going to be bombarded. Is there anything about your time away that might come back to kick you in the teeth?”

  “I lived a pretty simple life.”

  “Ex-girlfriends? Lovers?”

  Ty hesitated. “I wasn’t celibate,” he admitted tensely.

  “It’ll all come out, you know. Bayrock inhabitants are about to have their fifteen minutes of fame…”

  Karen’s warnings went on and on, and Cammie and Ty both began to feel more and more depressed. The tip of the iceberg had been his return; a whole lotta ice would be revealed before the entire thing was uncovered.

  Susannah made a strangled sound, “Look!” she cried, covering the receiver wit
h one hand and pointing to the television set with the other.

  Samuel’s familiar face swam onto the screen during a news update. Karen flicked off the mute button in time to hear Samuel say, “No comment,” to five questions in succession.

  “Well, he finally decided to keep his mouth shut,” Ty drawled with amusement. “Better late than never.”

  Cammie smiled, then froze in disbelief as Samuel’s image was replaced by Paul Merrill’s.

  “Ugh,” Cammie declared, as Paul explained that he was not currently at liberty to explain the details of the arrangement that had “lured Tyler Stovall home,” but that he was indeed responsible for the prodigal’s return, and that yes, Camilla Merrill was his ex-wife. He preened fatuously for the camera.

  Tyler observed him with interest. “So, that’s the ex.”

  “He got me fired from Cherry Blossom Lane,” Cammie said aloud. “I’m sure he’s clapping himself on the back for his ‘brainstorm’ of sending me after Ty.”

  “I thought that was dear old Dad’s point of honor,” Ty said with a grin.

  “I’m glad you’re taking this so well,” Cammie murmured.

  “Keep up the lighthearted spirits,” Karen said with approval. “It’s the only way to get through this.” She rose from her seat, her cumbersome shape making it a bit of a struggle.

  Cammie tried not to eye her pregnancy with envy. “When will it be over?”

  “It can’t be that big of a story,” said Ty.

  “It’s the biggest thing since Monica Lewinsky,” was Karen’s spirit-dampening observation. “Expect it to go on awhile. Just hold on to your sense of humor for all its worth—you’re going to need it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “…Warren Galloway’s accusations of blackmail and coverup have shed a new light on Tyler Stovall’s reasons for leaving Hollywood. Mr. Galloway insists there’s more to the death of producer Gayle Muldoon than has yet been reported. The police are reluctant to continue investigations, however, and insiders speculate that icon Samuel Stovall has used his enormous clout to stall further inquiries…”

  Ty flipped off the TV in disgust, tired of the same tripe that had played over and over again the past few weeks. That particular clip was from The Final Truth, an investigative television program which had interviewed both him and Warren Galloway. Though it had eventually shown Ty in a favorable light, he was sick of hearing about himself, sick of being bombarded with questions, sick of everything except his work on Rock Bottom and his relationship with Cammie.

  The worst of the media frenzy had ended in the first four days, but Gayle’s story had been resurrected several times by Warren Galloway’s desire to be kept in the limelight. Samuel, it appeared, had assessed Galloway’s character correctly: the man wanted his pound of flesh and a twinkle of celebrity sparkle as well. The truth didn’t matter.

  For about the billionth time, Ty wished he could just do his job without all the resulting hoopla, but wishes never seemed to be fulfilled.

  Karen had instructed Ty to remain at his hotel, away from Cammie, in order to douse further flames of controversy over his current romance. It was good advice for both him and Cammie, though it was difficult sleeping apart from her. Still, they’d managed to get together here and there. For now, it had to be enough.

  Ty had struck a deal with the Connellys that was generous and fair. Cammie had not been privy to that inner sanctum meeting; it was between Ty, the Connellys, and their agents. Susannah had given Cammie the thumbs-up sign when she’d rushed through her office where Cammie was anxiously waiting, but apart from a “Ty’ll tell you all about it,” Susannah had been very professional about not blabbing about other actors’ contracts.

  Which had ticked Cammie off to no end and amused Ty, who’d given her all the particulars later when they’d reaffirmed their feelings for each other in bed.

  “Karen’s having her baby soon,” Cammie had said that particular afternoon, alerting Ty to her state of mind.

  “Don’t torture yourself,” he whispered in her ear, letting his tongue explore its soft pink shell.

  “I don’t,” she said, but the wistful lilt of her voice came through loud and clear. For the time being, Ty left the subject alone, knowing there was nothing to do about it anyway.

  For a while everything had gone smoothly until the day on the set when Ty had grown so annoyed with his father for wanting things his way, no matter what, that he had blurted to Cammie, “That man is the most self-serving individual on this earth! He treats everyone else like a slave. It’s a blessing we won’t have children, Cammie. I’m not kidding. I never want the chance of a relationship like the one I have with my father!”

  Reckless, reckless words. Especially given Cammie’s fragile state on this issue. He’d felt bad when she’d gone completely quiet, but he’d meant what he’d said, and he hoped, in the end, she would come to understand his feelings.

  Now, glancing out his window, Ty examined the hot, palish-blue Los Angeles sky. Paparazzi still hung around the Beverly Hills Hotel, but the boiling fever of Ty’s reemergence had dissipated to a small simmer. For that he was supremely grateful, even if these infernal broadcasts kept cropping up.

  And true to Karen’s prediction, the residents of Bayrock were duly interviewed. They expressed wonder and awe that “Jerry Mercer” was truly Tyler Stovall, not some mere look-alike. The whole town was amazed. When Missy was interviewed, Tyler braced himself for a storm that never came. Missy’s report could have been embarrassing to the extreme, given the truth of their relationship, but she’d been so poleaxed by the fact that she’d had a relationship with the famous actor himself, she could do little besides whisper, wide-eyed, “Wow, I don’t believe it!” Reporters quickly tired of her star-struck behavior and went in search of juicier tidbits of information. Count that one as lucky. Missy’s physical relationship with Tyler would never be believed even if she were to suddenly start telling all and sundry about it; it smacked too much of pure fantasy.

  Thank God for small favors.

  During the resulting interview with Corky and acquaintances who were seated at the counter inside Rodeo Bob’s, Ty fared a little better than with Missy. Though self-conscious of the cameras, the group had only nice things to say about the “star” who’d dwelled in their midst. “He’s a good man,” Corky stated with a shrug. “No matter what his name is. Hey, Jer,” he added for benefit of the camera, lifting a mug to the lens. “This one’s for you, pal. Keep cool.”

  Nostalgia cut a hole in Tyler’s heart, but he vowed to keep plowing ahead with Rock Bottom.

  But then Warren Galloway got cooking and Karen called a quick meeting to assess what was what. Ty reluctantly explained the circumstances of Gayle’s death, so Karen suggested a defense of “no comments” by all. It was tricky, especially when Warren took his tale of suicide, deceit, and blackmail to a particularly obnoxious morning show host—and bared the extent of Samuel’s misguided coverup. Warren described Samuel and Tyler Stovall as evil partners in a plot to drive poor, pregnant Gayle to suicide in order to kill the “love child” who had been fathered by one of them. The melodramatic and ludicrous tale held just enough truth to be seriously considered; even the LAPD were named as part of the conspiracy to cover up the dastardly deed.

  And it had gone on from there, losing fire, but never fully extinguished. Samuel’s prediction had come true. The past haunted from beyond the grave.

  Annoyed himself, Samuel had rung up Tyler one evening and boomed out, “I’m calling a press conference. You’ve got to be there and help field questions.”

  Ty had simply slammed down the phone.

  “Enough,” he’d growled to Cammie who sat on the edge of one of the chairs in Ty’s private suite. “I’m sorry about Gayle and the baby, and I’m sorry my father buckled under to blackmail. But I’ll be damned if I’ll go and dignify slander. Samuel got himself into this, he can get himself out.”

  Gayle’s suicide and the death of her unborn child
got a lot of play in the papers. Pictures of the deceased woman were splayed across papers and magazines. Warren Galloway was reportedly signing a book deal.

  It all made Tyler sick.

  And Cammie, oddly teary-eyed over the whole ordeal, said miserably, “They just harp on this tragedy over and over again. I hate it.”

  “Forget about it, sweetheart. I hate it, too.” Ty pulled her into his arms and Cammie clutched him tightly.

  “I don’t know how she could—” She gulped, cutting herself off.

  “Kill her child?” Ty suggested softly, brushing back her hair, saying the words she couldn’t form.

  “I’d do anything to have my own baby. Anything! And the way they muckrake Gayle’s story. It’s flat-out criminal!”

  The flap over Warren’s allegations grew to fever pitch and Karen had to reverse her earlier proclamation. She suggested that Ty address the issue of Gayle and her unborn child. The swirling innuendo over the baby’s paternity had grown with Ty and Samuel’s silence over the issue. Ty balked at airing the dirty laundry, but Karen splayed her hands and pointed out, “Your sensibilities can be affronted all you want, but it won’t cool the public’s ardor. Tell them the truth. Tell them it was yours. Tell them you didn’t know until it was too late, and tell them it was why you left.”

  It went against everything Ty believed in. The idea of baring his soul to a hungry, avid public was anathema. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t betray himself so thoroughly. He was furious with Samuel for putting him in this position. And yes, he was angry at Gayle, too, for destroying herself and another life just for the sake of revenge. For that’s what it had turned out to be. Written in her own hand, Gayle’s suicide letter to Samuel had been all accusations and blame, and it had been used as a tool of blackmail all these years.

  Ty thought to ride it out, but instead of abating, the buzz continued right up to the first day of shooting for Rock Bottom. Feeling like he was somehow buckling under and being untrue to himself, he nevertheless agreed to an interview with a reporter from The Final Truth, an hourlong, in-depth investigative news program along the lines of NBC’s Dateline and CBS’s 60 Minutes.