by Amy Harmon
They went to an outdoor aquarium so he could keep his baseball hat and sunglasses on. As they walked around, Slade held the girls’ hands, often lifting both girls up so they could get a better view.
Elaina cried at the sea lion exhibit because lions were “scary and going to get her.”
Instead of telling her she was being ridiculous like Alex would have done, Slade squeezed her hand and said, “You don’t have to worry. I can tell exactly what the sea lion is thinking.” Then Slade did a monologue in a Jamaican accent about how the sea lion only ate squid and the occasional Cheeto. Before long Elaina was laughing and Bella begged him to tell her what the starfish thought, and what the octopus thought.
Clarissa was glad he couldn’t tell what she thought.
If someone had asked her a few weeks ago what attracted her most in a man, Clarissa wouldn’t have said, “A good father.” And yet watching Slade with the girls, she couldn’t think of anything more attractive than the attention he paid to Bella and Elaina. That had to be the reason her frustrations with him melted, and in their place she felt a strange ache and a quickened pulse rate.
He was so down-to-earth. So openly casual. So horribly good-looking.
The last thought plagued Clarissa the most.
If she didn’t think carefully about what she did, she was bound to make a fool of herself by doing something rash— like, say, throwing herself at him.
Well, so much for her resolution to swear off men.
The group had lunch at seaside café, then walked along the beach so the girls could look for shells. Slade talked to Clarissa about all sorts of things. It felt like a date, and not just any date—the really good kind of date that left you breathless and hoping the guy would call you soon.
Clarissa had to tell him the truth. She knew that now. She had to find some way to tell him she was divorced, to tell him she was free if he was interested.
Would he be interested, though?
The thought brought a sharp pain to her stomach.
Of course he wouldn’t be.
It wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities. After all, at the employment center Mr. Peterson had told her that Slade wanted to hire a married woman. Slade wasn’t looking for a love interest in his nanny.
So Clarissa had to squelch these feelings, which kept popping up every time she noticed how perfectly rugged his features were. And how broad and muscular his shoulders were. And how his voice had a deep rich tenor that made something inside of her quiver.
If he had ever shown any hint he was attracted to her, she could have perhaps mustered the courage to tell him everything, but he hadn’t. Instead of attraction, he’d only shown annoyance that she was young and pretty. He wanted her to talk about her husband in sweet and loving tones so no one got the wrong idea about them.
Besides, Slade would be angry at being deceived. Clarissa didn’t want that, and she couldn’t afford it, either. So she would go on pretending to be married. In fact, if Slade extended the nanny position after they got back to California, she’d go out and invent a husband just to continue the facade. Maybe some time in the months to come, after she knew Slade well enough to feel secure in her position, she’d tell him one day that her husband had been inadvertently killed in a freak manhole accident. But only after she felt secure with the position.
* * *
On Monday morning while Slade went off to the Undercover Agents set to find AJ, Clarissa took the girls to the beach in front of the hotel. For a time, the three of them played in the water, edging toward the ocean as the water pulled back, then trying to outrun the waves as they came surging onto the shore. Several times the waves won, crashing into their legs and backs—once or twice toppling the little girls in the foamy water.
Clarissa quickly picked them up and set them right. She brushed wet sand from their faces, looking for tears, but never found any. Bella thought her face plants were especially funny. “Look ’Laina,” she said opening her mouth. “I got sand on my tongue!”
After a while the girls settled down to the less dangerous pastime of building castles, and Clarissa spread out her towel to watch them. She tugged at the front of her swimming suit as she sat down, wishing it weren’t so low cut.
She hadn’t noticed this about the suit when she bought it. All that business with Landon had distracted her, and she hadn’t looked closely at the suit until the next morning. And then it was too late to wear anything else. She’d already thrown out her old blue suit, and housekeeping had disposed of it along with the empty soap wrappers and used towelettes.
Clarissa stretched out her legs and watched the girls throwing sand over their shoulders. She didn’t even notice Sylvia walk up to her until the older woman set a folding beach chair down beside Clarissa.
Sylvia wore a different swimsuit than she had at the pool, a black one-piece with bright pink lines running from the shoulder to the waist. Her dark hair was still pulled back in a bun, this time wrapped in a pink scarf that exactly matched the shade of her lipstick. She wore the same dark sunglasses and surveyed the sky with a smile. “It’s another beautiful day in paradise, isn’t it?”
Clarissa folded her arms. “No comment.”
“Oh, you’re not mad about Friday, are you?”
“Slade is the perfect boss, and Bella is an angel.”
Sylvia laughed, but it held no humor. “You don’t have to worry about me, dear. As far as reporters go, I’m one of the good kind. I never make things up. I just get to the truth. That’s why I’m the top columnist at The Scoop.”
Sylvia took off her glasses and nodded down the beach. “See that man walking over there—the tall, blond one with the yellow towel? He’s the one you have to worry about.”
The man she referred to walked along the shoreline, hands in his pockets, surveying the people on the beach. He wore regular glasses, not sunglasses, and reminded Clarissa of a science teacher she once had. Stuffy and proper. “Why would I worry about him?”
“He’s Doug Rockwell, a reporter from the Celebrity Buzz, and he doesn’t share my respect for the truth.” As Sylvia looked over at him, her eyes narrowed. “Inside sources, my foot. I’ll tell you what his inside sources are: his wishful thinking, his wild imagination, and his delusions of grandeur.” She slipped her sunglasses back over her eyes with a humph. “You know that article he ran last week on Angelina Jolie? Pure fiction. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had never even talked to Angie. Just look at him.” Sylvia shook her head. “He’s over there scouting for some big name out on the beach, and that, my dear, is why I will always be a better journalist. I don’t wait for the stories to come to me—I dig, and I never overlook the small details.” Her attention suddenly turned back on Clarissa, and her pink lips curled into a smile. “You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this, aren’t you?”
Actually, Clarissa was simply letting Sylvia go on in the hope she’d talk herself out and leave.
“I’m telling you,” Sylvia continued, “because you are one of those small details of which stories are made.”
“I don’t have anything to tell you, and—”
“Oh, but you do,” Sylvia interrupted. “Some of my best sources are the worker bees around the great hive of the superstars. You’re the ones who see things as they really are.”
“My employment contract says I can’t talk to journalists, and even if it didn’t, I still wouldn’t. Slade has a right to keep his private life private.”
The pink smile didn’t falter. “Pity. Then I’ll have to go with my other story. The one about the nanny who is an old friend of Landon McKellips, the nanny who works for Slade Jacobson, the nanny who isn’t happily married at all.”
Clarissa felt her stomach tighten into knots. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Hadn’t Sylvia promised Landon she’d leave Clarissa alone if he gave her an interview?
Sylvia leaned toward Clarissa. “I did a little research and called your ex-husband. He wasn’t at all hesitant to talk to me. I
n fact, he had a lot to say about you. For example, he didn’t even know you were a friend of Landon’s, but it didn’t surprise him. He said you were always meeting men in your last job at the fitness center.”
“I handed them towels. That’s different than meeting men.”
“He said you taught yoga because you enjoyed prancing around in tight, skimpy exercise clothes.”
“I taught yoga because it paid better than checking people in at the front desk.”
“So you put on the tight, skimpy clothes for money?”
This wasn’t happening. Clarissa absolutely wasn’t sitting here talking to a reporter about her divorce and discussing the skimpiness of her exercise outfits.
“You’re twisting my words,” Clarissa said. “You’re probably twisting Alex’s too.” But the truth was, Clarissa wasn’t sure if Sylvia needed to twist Alex’s words. He had a way of twisting reality all by himself. Since the time things had gotten bad in their marriage, he’d made a habit of taking minor incidents, blowing them up, and throwing them back at her. Or rather, he’d thrown them at the marriage counselor. It was at counseling that Clarissa had learned she couldn’t keep a budget, was a hopeless flirt, an incurable slob, and that the occasional clothes she’d bought for Elaina constituted “running up a huge credit card bill every month.”
Sylvia smiled, catlike, surveying her mouse. “I’m not twisting Alex’s words. Actually, I’ve softened them to save your feelings. Men can be such cads, you know.”
Clarissa bit back her first response and focused her attention on the girls and their sand heaps. “I don’t think your readers will care about some unknown nanny’s divorce.”
“They will if Landon is in the middle of it.”
Clarissa’s gaze swung back to Sylvia. “He’s not in the middle of it. I didn’t even meet Landon until after my divorce.”
Sylvia tilted her head back in a relaxed fashion. “Then why would he tell me the two of you were old friends?”
Because he was doing Slade a favor. But Clarissa couldn’t tell Sylvia that. She didn’t want to bring up Slade’s name in front of this reporter.
Or maybe not. Maybe the best thing to do would be to come clean with the whole story. If she explained the whole situation to Sylvia, then certainly the woman would understand that nothing untoward was going on.
Or maybe it would just give Sylvia more information she could pounce on.
“You and Landon made quite the couple on the dance floor Friday night,” Sylvia went on. “It was certainly nice of Slade to bring you to the party and leave someone else to watch his daughter.”
“How do you know what went on at the luau?”
“Sources, dear. I have my sources.”
Yes, sources. The thing that was making the cast so edgy. And now whoever was dishing the dirt was aiming his or her shovel at Clarissa.
She clenched her fists so tight her fingernails dug into her palms. “Slade only took me because…” Clarissa didn’t finish the sentence. Instead she said, “I thought you promised Landon if he gave you an interview you’d leave me alone.”
“I said I wouldn’t quote you on your opinions about Slade and his daughter, and I won’t. Once you’re working for me, I won’t mention your name at all. You’ll simply be another one of my sources.” Sylvia crossed her legs so that her sandal dangled carelessly from her foot. “So, is it a deal? You give me a more interesting story, and I’ll never use the one about you and Landon.”
Clarissa matched Sylvia’s conversational tone. “That’s blackmail.”
“No, dear, blackmail is when you pay me money to bury a story. Reporting is when the magazine pays me to uncover a story. I’m just reporting.” She smiled at Clarissa, then stood up and collapsed her beach chair. “Think about your story, but don’t contact me. It wouldn’t do, you know, to have people see us talking together. I’ll contact you later.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked away.
Clarissa leaned forward and rubbed her temples. Her head pounded in dull aching throbs that matched the cadence of the waves hitting the shore.
She had only wanted a job where she could spend more time with Elaina, and now she was reporter fodder, eyed over by Sylvia like she was destined to be her next meal.
Clarissa let out a slow, jagged breath. She would have to tell Slade everything. There was nothing else to do. Then he’d order her to leave Hawaii on the next flight out, which all in all might not be such a bad idea.
And when the news story broke that Landon McKellips had somehow facilitated the breakup of her marriage, she’d have a good laugh about it with her friends. And hope that none of her friends believed it. And hope that Elaina never read those news clips when she got older. And hope that Alex wouldn’t get any ideas about making her life more miserable because of them. And hope that Sylvia would keep her word and leave Slade completely out of everything. Sylvia, she thought bitterly, one of the good kind of reporters. What did the bad kind of reporters do? Take hostages?
Clarissa let out a small groan. She knew Sylvia would drag Slade into this. And she couldn’t let that happen.
Would it really hurt to give Sylvia some sort of story? After all, she could think of one: “Natalie Granger finally pulls off an Oscar-winning performance—that of devoted girlfriend.” Or perhaps: “Natalie Granger thinks her boyfriend should change his initials from A. J. to H. C. As in, He’s Clueless.”
It was true. And Natalie deserved it.
Clarissa stared out over the ocean, the story forming in her mind. It would be so easy. The article almost printed itself. She could see the headlines on the covers of millions of magazines, propped on the shelves in grocery store checkout lines.
Clarissa knew she couldn’t do it. Not to Natalie. Not to anyone.
Clarissa inwardly groaned. So it was a trip home and goodbye to the chance of ever seeing Slade again.
There had to be another way.
Maybe she could find a nice story for Sylvia, a story that wouldn’t upset anyone. Maybe Clarissa would get lucky and Slade would rescue someone from a burning building. She would set the fire herself if it would help.
She swallowed hard, feeling like it was she and not Bella who had got a mouthful of sand. Sylvia said she’d check back with her later. Maybe Clarissa could put her off indefinitely. Maybe Clarissa could figure a way out of this. Maybe she really would stumble onto an upbeat story.
Maybe.
Chapter Twenty-three
After stopping by and talking to Landon and Sherry, Slade ran into AJ.
The producer pulled Slade aside and apologized for not getting back in touch with him. “I haven’t had time to read your script yet,” he said. “But I’ll get to it soon. I promise.”
Which could mean anything.
Slade went back to his room and spent some time running over the lines for his next movie. After a couple hours of listless recitation, he tossed the script down. He couldn’t muster the enthusiasm for work. He was in Hawaii. He wanted to be on vacation. Besides, hadn’t Clarissa told him he needed to give Bella more attention? He would. And he’d take Clarissa along to prove the point.
He walked to Clarissa’s room and knocked.
She answered, looking tanner despite all the sunscreen she constantly toted around. Or maybe it wasn’t a tan. Her skin just had a healthy glow to it. She always had a way of looking wholesome and fresh.
“Time Machine’s reading is still set in the future,” he said. “Let’s take the kids and go to Hanauma Bay. No point in sticking around here when we can go grind sand into our clothes.”
“Sounds fun,” she said. “Although I already took the girls to the beach this morning—”
She didn’t get to finish. Bella grabbed Slade’s pant leg, already jumping with excitement. “We get to go to the beach again?”
And so they went. Meredith came too. Her Idahoan banker had left the night before, and she didn’t want to be by herself. They snorkeled for a bit; then while Slade and Clarissa
sat on towels watching the girls play, Meredith languished nearby on a low beach chair. She wore an oversized straw hat and sunglasses, and as she ran her fingers through the sand, she sighed a lot.
“It isn’t as though Idaho is that far away from California,” Slade told her. “I can give you the time off to fly over and see him.”
“I know,” Meredith said, “but everything is so difficult when you have a long-distance relationship. You have to decide whether you want to work at it. You have to figure out if it’s worth the commitment up front.” She picked up her hand and let a stream of sand pour through her fingers. “Speaking of long-distance relationships, your new girlfriend, Kim, e-mailed back.”
“She’s not my girlfriend, yet,” Slade said. “At least she doesn’t know she’s going to the party as my girlfriend, yet, so don’t mention it to her over the Internet.”
Clarissa cocked her head at him. “And when were you planning on telling her that she’s your girlfriend?”
“Don’t you start on me too,” he said. “I’m not being egotistical; I’m being cautious. It’s better to explain these things in person. I’ll tell her on the way to the party.”
Clarissa looked over at Meredith and mouthed the word egotistical to her.
Meredith nodded in agreement. “You’re far too sure of yourself, Slade, and it would serve you right if she’s as ugly as a troll underneath her Cat Woman costume.”
“Her Cat Woman costume?” Slade asked.
“Yes, she wrote back that she’ll bring her Cat Woman costume to Hawaii. On the night of the masquerade, she’ll be in the lobby of the Sunset Park Motel purring for you.”
“I bet she’s gorgeous,” Clarissa told Meredith with a conspiratorial air. “Gorgeous women are the only ones brave enough to purr.”
Meredith nodded again. “She’s probably tall, blonde, and stunning—and in that case I hope she’s eight months pregnant and Slade has to explain to everyone that she’s not really his girlfriend.”
