Popped

by Carol Higgins Clark

  Regan was trying to figure who Sam reminded her of. He was good-looking, with a quick and easy laugh. His friendly, relaxed manner must help put his subjects at ease. It certainly couldn’t hurt. He was such a contrast to Victor who was much more intense.

  “The rest of us will have hot dogs,” Victor teased.

  “Not true!” Danny said. “Don’t worry, Regan, they’ll have food for us.”

  Regan laughed. “Whatever!” What I’d really like, she thought, is to go back to the hotel and get some sleep.

  Chip turned to Regan, winked at her, and patted her leg. “We’ll get you a doggy bag.”

  That was weird, Regan thought. This couple is definitely strange. Vicky all of a sudden had become so exaggerated in her responses as she rhapsodized about Niagara Falls. Chip came off as a nerd when he tried to be romantic with his wife. It seemed so unnatural. But I guess that’s what pressure will do to you, Regan mused. All three couples could use the money. Who couldn’t? A million minus taxes would make most people’s day. So they all have to play up this romantic act until Friday. It will be interesting to see if anyone cracks under the strain.

  They pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant called Carlotta’s. A neon caricature of a showgirl holding up a plate of spaghetti with steam rising from it was displayed prominently in the front window. Some place for a dream date, Regan thought. Danny had told her there were budget considerations. He had to do this on a shoestring. How odd that Roscoe would limit the amount spent on the production itself but dangle a million-dollar prize.

  The maitre d’ greeted Danny warmly. “Did you get a picture of our showgirl?”

  “We’ll get that on the way out,” Danny promised.

  “Wonderful. Come upstairs.”

  The restaurant was lively. It had dark wood paneling, red tablecloths, dim lights, and noisy customers. The piano in the corner was silent, but a tip jar suggested that the pianist would be returning shortly. A narrow staircase with dark swirly carpeting led to the second floor. Regan followed Victor up the steps into a long, narrow, dingy room with a slightly musty smell and red-flocked wallpaper. A table set for four had been placed in the middle of the room.

  Le Cirque it ain’t, Regan thought.

  “My ladies?” The maitre d’ extended his arm and motioned to the table.

  Regan backed away as Aunt Agony stepped forward and sat in the seat pulled out for her. Vicky followed. The men sat themselves.

  “My name is Gianni,” the maitre d’ continued in a faux Italian accent. “We will take good care of you this evening. Grazie.” He turned to Danny. “Grazie.”

  “Thank you,” Danny said as Gianni bowed and disappeared downstairs.

  I wish I could sit down, Regan thought. She leaned against the wall as Danny started to explain his game plan: “Obviously, we’re not going to have the camera on during the whole meal. There will be times when Agony or Heartburn will ask you special questions, and we’ll record those conversations.”

  Regan wondered what they might ask. It was like having your therapy sessions taped for the world to see. The meal began pleasantly with drinks and light conversation.

  Once the appetizers were served, Agony leaned forward with a soulful look on her face. “I’d like each of you to tell us about your worst date ever.”

  “You mean with each other?” Vicky asked practically.

  Agony and Heartburn laughed. “No, no, no,” Agony replied. “With someone else. I understand you didn’t meet until you were both in your twenties. There must have been other dates along the way.”

  “Well,” Chip began, looking very uncomfortable in his chair. “I went out with a girl once who couldn’t stop talking about what a creep her ex-husband was. They had joint custody of the dog. Every time her ex came to pick up Fido for the weekend, she’d taken him on a long walk. It made me a little nervous about her. So I never called her again. I heard she said some pretty bad things about me after that. I certainly dodged that bullet.”

  “And my worst date,” Vicky offered, “was with a guy who picked me up at my apartment, insisted on coming in for a drink, and started going through all the papers on the kitchen counter when I went into the bedroom to freshen up. I caught him reading my mail!”

  Heartburn coughed up the water he had just sipped.

  Agony seemed very impatient. She didn’t inquire about her husband’s well-being and barely looked his way. I wonder what that’s all about? Regan mused.

  “That’s some nerve!” Agony cried. “That is despicable! I can’t stand nosy people!”

  You can’t stand nosy people? Regan marveled. With your job?

  “Okay!” Danny interrupted. “That’s enough for now. Enjoy your appetizers.” He turned to Regan. “Would you come downstairs with me for a few minutes? We can have a quick drink and snack at the bar.”

  “Sure.”

  “We’ll be right back,” Danny told the others. “Victor, I’ll tell Gianni to set up a little table in the corner of the room here for you and Sam.”

  “Good enough. No more taping now?”

  “Not till we get back.” As Danny and Regan went down the staircase, Danny whispered, “Regan, you’re not going to believe this….”

  37

  “W hat do you want to tell me?” Pilot Pete asked Bubbles. They were in the living room of her suite. He was sitting in the straight-backed chair that he’d pulled out from under the desk. Bubbles was pacing, but there wasn’t a lot of space for that.

  “You and I both want the sitcom to work.” She tossed back her red hair and smiled flirtatiously. “We want Roscoe to choose our show.”

  “You’re stating the obvious, Bubbles.”

  “Don’t get smart with me,” Bubbles warned.

  Pete laughed. “But we all have job security. That’s our problem.”

  “James is forever,” Bubbles nodded in agreement. “For better or for worse.”

  “Till death do us part.”

  “Petey, I’ve got to tell you. When you say that, it makes me nervous.”

  “You think I’m going to off James?” Pete challenged, his voice rising. “That offends me.”

  “Well, when you mentioned it in the bar, I thought you were serious.”

  “I’ll admit I often feel like killing him. But do you think I’d put my whole life on the line for this lousy sitcom?”

  “Don’t call it a lousy sitcom.”

  “I’m serious. I’ve done a ton of pilots that haven’t aired. And those were for the networks. You think I’d kill somebody to save a sitcom on Roscoe’s Balloon Channel? How many people are going to end up watching the show anyway? Everyone’s at the casinos.”

  “You never know,” Bubbles retorted. “You know how many small cable shows have been picked up by the big boys? Huh?”

  “You know how many haven’t? And the ones that are successful are usually made by teenage kids doing a show out of their basement. It appeals to their demographic, which is huge. All they talk about in Hollywood is the ‘demographics.’ Demographics this, demographics that. If I hear that word one more time, I’ll choke.”

  Bubbles looked alarmed. “We don’t have any teenagers on our show!”

  “If the show is a hit, we can always write in kids.”

  “That doesn’t always work.”

  “Bubbles,” Pete said, “we’re getting off the track here. What is your big plan?”

  “I have a boyfriend,” Bubbles began.

  “So. Did you think I was hitting on you?”

  “No! I have a boyfriend who works on the reality show.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “I know.”

  “What does he do there?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “I think it’s better if I keep his identity a secret.”

  “Why?”

  “Petey, just listen for a minute. He is there as a spy for me. Righ
t now he’s trying to get the goods on the contestants. He’s trying to find a reason to disqualify one of the couples so the show can’t go on. He set up a special website for people to report any gossip they have on the contestants.”

  Pete stared at her. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I thought you’d want to know that there might be another way to win.”

  “Is your friend doing anything else to cause trouble?”

  Bubbles hesitated. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to confide in Petey. She thought he would be thrilled. She thought he would be comforted and cheered. But the look on his face was not cheerful. It was scary. Like when he suggested they kill James. “No,” she lied. “But somebody is. There have been a lot of mishaps on the set.”

  “Mishaps? Like what?”

  Bubbles wanted to kick herself. She must have been delusional to think she could trust this guy. He was like a psycho the way his face kept changing. One minute he seems like Mr. Rogers, the next Jack the Ripper. “Well, someone stole a camera. Things like that.”

  Pete stood and pointed his finger at her. “You’ve made me an accessory to whatever your friend decides to do to ruin the reality show,” he accused, his voice raised. “I have to tell you that I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all.” He stormed toward the door.

  “Pete!” Bubbles cried.

  He turned to her, yelled “Gotcha!” and then started to laugh hysterically. “I had you going there, didn’t I?”

  I’m going to have a nervous breakdown, Bubbles thought.

  38

  “R egan, things are getting messier every minute,” Danny complained as the bartender poured them each a glass of red wine.

  “I know the mail was stolen. What else happened?”

  Danny put his head down on the bar, shook it from side to side, and then raised it up again. He quickly filled Regan in on his mother reading the letter from Agony and Heartburn’s lawyer.

  “No wonder she freaked out about Vicky’s date reading her mail,” Regan commented. “Everybody’s got their problems. Scratch the surface of almost anybody’s life—”

  “On top of everything else, my ex-girlfriend—who dumped me and now wants me back—will be doing makeovers on the show on Thursday.”

  “Why?”

  “She and her best friend overheard my mother talking about the mail and made lightly veiled threats to go to the papers if I don’t give Honey a chance to work on the show.”

  “Is she a beautician?”

  “No, she’s a showgirl. But believe me, she knows every facialist, hairdresser, and makeup artist in town.”

  Regan smiled. “It sounds as if you still like her.”

  Danny shrugged. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

  Regan realized once again how lucky she was to have Jack. Their relationship had been so easy from the beginning. If only they lived in the same city, it would be perfect. She brought her mind back to the problems at hand. “We can’t let anyone find out about Heartburn’s ex-wife. That would really bring down the show.”

  “I know. It’s like taking advice about etiquette from Bart Simpson.”

  Regan smiled. “Where are your parents now?”

  “My father’s trying to win his money back in the casino. Can you believe my mother read that mail? Can you believe it?”

  Regan had a vague memory of Mrs. Madley in the makeshift kitchen in their grammar school on hot dog day, which was Tuesdays. A few of the mothers would come in and boil hundreds of hot dogs in a vat, the proceeds going to whatever the current cause was in the parish. Mrs. Madley never missed a Tuesday. She was always in the middle of things and frequently showed up at school when no other parents were around. Poor Danny. His mother hadn’t changed, and now it really was causing him grief.

  “I live several hundred miles away from her,” Danny continued. “And she still manages to meddle in my life.”

  “She means well,” Regan offered feebly.

  “I know, but if Heartburn is exposed, then he and Agony will go to the police about my mother, I just know it. Which makes me a joke.”

  “Does anyone else know?”

  Danny shook his head. “No. No one except my parents, Agony and Heartburn, Honey and Lucille.”

  “Keep it that way,” Regan advised him. “I wouldn’t tell Victor or Sam.”

  “Victor is in on everything,” Danny said.

  “You told me you think someone is trying to sabotage you. The most likely suspects are Victor and Sam. The assistants seem to come and go, and they don’t have the access that those two have.”

  “But who could have tampered with the tires of the van?” Danny asked. “I just don’t see how Victor or Sam could have done that without being noticed.”

  “To tell you the truth,” Regan confided, “I think there’s something more complicated going on here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For one thing, that Roscoe Parker seems a little strange. How did you meet him?”

  “In a poker game at one of the casinos.”

  “Was he a good bluffer?”

  “Not really. He never stopped talking.”

  “I’m anxious to go to his house tomorrow night. I have an uneasy feeling about him. Anyone who would blow that annoying whistle like he did this afternoon has to have other pranks up his sleeve. And that’s what I feel you’ve been a victim of—a lot of pranks. But some of them could be dangerous. And I haven’t even told you what I overheard at the 7’s Hotel.”

  “What?”

  “Bubbles and Pete were at a table in the bar talking about how bad one of their actors is. Bubbles said she had something important to tell Pete, and they left. Then you called me, and I contacted security about the missing sack of mail. The security guard and I looked in your parents’ room, but it was undisturbed. It’s interesting that your parents are staying at that hotel.”

  “Only my mother could find a hotel like that one. She got a coupon for it somewhere or other.”

  “You know, it’s very similar to the Fuzzy Dice—different themes but the same quality and atmosphere. I wonder who owns the two hotels.”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Danny admitted.

  The bartender served them a small pizza and two more glasses of wine.

  “That looks great,” Regan said. “I’m starved.”

  “We’d better eat this fast and get back upstairs.” Danny pulled a slice onto his plate, catching a dangling string of cheese with his fingers. “I’m afraid to think of what might be going on.”

  Ten minutes later Danny paid the check, and he and Regan ascended the creaky staircase. Agony and Heartburn were locked in a passionate embrace. Vicky and Chip were staring at them in disbelief as the camera rolled.

  39

  “M addy, I don’t want to play any slot machines,” Shep insisted.

  They’d gone over to the Venetian Hotel to walk around and grab a bite to eat. It was truly a fascinating place. Las Vegas’s version of Italy’s most romantic city included a 1,200-foot-long mini-replica of Venice’s Grand Canal, known as the Canalazzo, where visitors could enjoy a twelve-minute boat ride while being serenaded by singing gondoliers. The sixty-five-foot-high domed ceiling was adorned by beautiful reproductions of famous Italian frescoes, and to the even bigger delight of many, there were numerous fancy shops. The Canalazzo ran through a ninety-store mall.

  The Venetian resort complex included everything from recreations of St. Mark’s Square, the Doge’s Palace, and the Rialto Bridge to an imported Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum. The hotel itself had more hotel rooms than the entire island of Bermuda. Two historians were on retainer to ensure that the resort maintained a genuine Italian flair.

  Maddy loved to walk around the Venetian and eat at any of the many fine restaurants or even at one of the more casual dining spots. She oohed and aahed at all the sights and was serenaded by the buzz in the huge casino. But tonight neither she nor Shep could enjoy themselves.<
br />
  Shep played a few games of roulette and lost. They’d eaten dinner, and he was ready to go back to their depressing hotel. What he really wanted to do was go home and sleep in his own bed. Today had been trying.

  “Maybe I should call Danny to see how he’s doing,” Maddy suggested.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “All right,” Maddy agreed sheepishly.

  They took a cab back to the 7’s Hotel where Maddy headed straight for the registration desk. She rapped twice on the bell with her palm. “Hello,” she called loudly. “Anybody home?”

  The clerk emerged from the door behind the desk. “Madam, I was attending to a fax.”

  “Well, maybe that’s why some important mail was stolen from my room,” Maddy cried. “No security in this lobby. None at all. Anyone can walk in off the street and take off on a crime spree.”

  “Our guests’ security is always our utmost priority,” the clerk answered peevishly.

  “I’m just grateful that I survived unscathed from the burglary in our room,” Maddy said as Shep stood to the side, rubbing his forehead.

  “We’re ever so grateful as well,” the clerk noted in a flat tone.

  “What I wanted to know,” Maddy continued, “is if by any chance the sack of mail has been located.”

  “No. It hasn’t been seen.” His expression seemed to say, “And probably never will.”

  “Disgraceful,” Maddy commented as she stalked off, waving her hands. Shep followed her to the elevator and up into their room. They turned on the light, and once again Maddy gasped.

  “What?” Shep asked wearily.

  “This Cherry Chap Stick,” Maddy said, picking it up off the dresser, “was definitely not here when we checked in. Whoever stole that sack of mail has chapped lips! I hope they bleed!”

  40

  B y the time Regan got back to her room at the Fuzzy Dice Hotel, she couldn’t have been more relieved. Aunt Agony and Uncle Heartburn had spent the evening trying to show everyone how in love they were. It was as if they were competing for the million-dollar prize, though Regan assumed they were motivated by the threat of Uncle Heartburn’s troubles being revealed to a public who might turn against them.