Finding Mr. Right Now

by Meg Benjamin

  Monica grinned in spite of herself. “Nobody’s going to believe that.”

  “They don’t have to believe it. We just need to say something for the record.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “How’s Ronnie taking it? I’m assuming she’s not really devastated.”

  Sid snorted. “She’s just mad she has to have Billy Joe back again. She keeps saying she doesn’t see why she can’t choose Paul anyway.”

  Monica winced. If she’d been there, she might have been able to explain it all to Ronnie. Of course if she’d been there, the whole thing would have landed on her head. “Does Glenn want me to come back?”

  There was a long pause at the other end. Crap. “He told me to tell you to head back to L.A. He doesn’t want you around here for the paparazzi to find.”

  “So is he firing me?”

  Sid sighed again. “Look Monica, I know this isn’t your fault, but the thing is, Artie’s going to want someone to blame. And, well…”

  “It’s most likely going to be me,” she finished dully.

  “Yeah. I’ll do what I can. But I wouldn’t count on keeping a job with Fairstein. You might want to start looking for something else when you get back to L.A.”

  “Right,” she murmured.

  “Just head back home. Maybe something will work out. I’ll keep you posted. Talk to you later, Monica.”

  Monica closed her eyes, then dropped the phone back into her jeans pocket. Maybe something would work out. Bet on not. She thought about going back inside to explain it all to the group, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  Instead, she headed to the side of the porch, settling into a lawn chair near the end, then rested her chin in her hands, staring down at the uneven planks that made up the wooden walk in front. The real West. Right here before your very eyes. After a couple of moments, a pair of worn brown boots appeared in front of her.

  “Interesting crisis.”

  She looked up. At least Dick wasn’t smiling his nasty smile. He wasn’t smiling at all, really. Just staring at her with that ice-blue gaze.

  “Probably more interesting from the outside than the inside.”

  He took a seat in the rusty lawn chair beside her. The furniture looked like it had come with the building. Or maybe it had just sat outside through a couple of Salt Box winters.

  “You know you’re not the first people to have been photographed sneaking into or out of places where they weren’t supposed to be.” He gave her a dry grin. “Of course, yours is a special case given that neither of you is married or otherwise attached to other people, so in most of the world nobody would give a shit about what you did.”

  “Technically, Paul’s supposed to be attached to Ronnie.” She leaned back in her chair, watching the Blarney Stone’s patrons stride through the front door. “They’ll fire us both, of course. They have to if they want to keep any credibility at all. Which is pretty much what you’d expect, under the circumstances.”

  “I don’t know that I’d expect it,” Dick said slowly, “but I don’t know much about the mindset at your show.”

  She shrugged. “Somebody’s got to pay for getting the show on the cover of Celebrity News. In this case, it’ll be Paul and me.”

  “I’d think they’d want to be on the cover.” His eyes narrowed. “Publicity and all.”

  Monica shook her head. “They don’t mind the publicity at Fairstein. In fact, I’m guessing they’re secretly delighted that there’s been a scandal that got them onto the cover of the tabloids. Maybe People will pick it up. But for public consumption they’ll need to show that they’re just shocked to pieces. That’s why they’ll fire us.” She stared up at the darkening sky. She’d have to remember to look at the stars tonight. They wouldn’t be nearly as dramatic back in L.A.

  “‘I’m shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on here.’” Dick’s grin had curdled slightly.

  “Huh?”

  “Casablanca. It’s what the police captain says as he collects his winnings. “He glanced at her. “For somebody who’s about to be fired, you don’t sound that upset.”

  She shrugged again. “I’m not. I’d rather not leave Fairstein this way, but I’d already decided to leave. Of course, I may be radioactive for a while.”

  He arched one graying eyebrow. “Radioactive?”

  She nodded. “This is stupid publicity. So some people are likely to figure I’m stupid too. I don’t really want to work at places that hire stupid people, and the other places will need a little time to forget about all of this.”

  “But you need a job.”

  She nodded again. “I do. But I’ve got a little bit of back salary coming from Fairstein. So I can get by for a while.”

  Dick folded his hands behind his head, stretching his legs in front of him. “You could work for me.”

  Monica narrowed her eyes, trying to see if he was being sarcastic. He didn’t look like it, but you never knew with Dick. “Doing what?”

  “Being my assistant. Partly for the stuff I’ve got going here in Colorado and New Mexico, but partly for stuff back in California. You should be able to pick it up pretty fast.” He gave her one of his dry smiles. “You seem smart enough.”

  “I…” She paused, trying to think of a polite way to put it. “I want to stay in the business, if I can. I don’t want to lose all the experience I got with Fairstein.”

  His smile stayed in place. “You’d be in the business. What do you think I do, anyway? Strip mining?”

  She felt a quick flare of irritation. “I don’t know what you do, Dick. I don’t know much about you at all. I don’t even know your last name.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know yours either, far as that goes.”

  She turned toward him, smiling her best professional smile. “Monica McKellar. Pleased to meet you.”

  He extended his hand to the side, not moving from his slouch. “Dick Sonnenfeld. Likewise.”

  She stared at his extended hand for a long moment before giving it a very limp shake, feeling her pulse hammer in her temple again. “Dick Sonnenfeld.”

  “In the flesh.” He turned to look at her, one of those dry smiles building.

  “Richard Sonnenfeld.”

  “Yep. Around here, it’s Dick though. I suppose you could call me Richard, but you’d sound sort of weird in Salt Box.” He folded his arms behind his head again.

  She took a deep breath, willing herself not to stammer. “I studied Heartsound in my directing class. The instructor thought it was the best film of the seventies.”

  Dick snorted. “Overrated. Anyone who thinks that pretentious piece of shit was the best film of the seventies hasn’t seen many films from the seventies.”

  “I saw Stormy Wednesday too.” She swallowed. “I liked it.”

  “Yeah,” he mused, “that one was worth liking.”

  Monica sat staring up at the blue-black mountains, slowly changing color in the setting sun. “About this job…”

  “Right.” He sounded faintly bored.

  “What is it you’re looking for?”

  He sighed. “I work mainly with indie productions these days. Not much return there, but I’m a partner in a couple of production companies where I don’t do anything but count money, and I’ve got enough non-show business investments to keep me more than solvent. So I’ve got time to check out talent. Or rather, you’ve got time to check out talent. I need somebody to do the scut work—look at scripts, check the videos, see if they’re worth it. Then keep an eye on casting, technical crew, all of that. You ride herd on ’em to make sure they don’t blow my money on iPads. If a project looks interesting, you’ll give it to me because I’m only doing the interesting ones.”

  “And your definition of interesting would be…”

  He shrugged. “You’ll figure it out. One catch though.”

  She managed not to snort. “Only one?”

  He ignored her. “You have to live here. In Salt Box. I don’t do deals over the phone if
I can help it. So you live here and go down the mountain when you need to. Or when I need you to. I don’t drive to Denver either.”

  “So I’d be driving to and from Denver all the time?” She ignored the slight increase in her pulse rate. She’d get used to it.

  “You’ll get used to it.” Dick’s dry smile was back. “But you’re right, there’s more than one catch.”

  She grimaced. “Figures. What’s the next one?”

  “I hate working with idiots. I spent too many years doing that in Hollywood, and I’m not going back to it. Wastes my time and what’s left of my life. Based on our last couple of conversations, I’m assuming you’re not an idiot.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured.

  “Should that not prove to be the case, that is, should you turn out to be an idiot, I reserve the right to fire you.” The dry smile was definitely in place.

  Monica blew out a breath. “Right. Okay, that’s acceptable. But I’ve got a catch of my own.”

  Dick’s brow furrowed slightly. “What is it?”

  “If you prove to be an asshole, which I expect will happen pretty regularly, based on past experience, I reserve the right to tell you so without being fired for it.” She gave him a dry smile of her own.

  He closed his eyes. “Aw, shit, you’re telling me I’ll have you on one side and Nona on the other? Bitching in stereo? Doesn’t seem entirely fair.”

  “All the same, I have the feeling it’ll be necessary.” She watched the sun sink lower on the horizon in a blaze of gold and scarlet glory.

  Dick sighed. “You drive a hard bargain, McKellar. But I’m game if you are.”

  Monica closed her eyes, smiling. “Okay, Mr. Sonnenfeld. Looks like you’ve got yourself an assistant.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Paul pulled the rental car into the hotel parking lot at Elkhorn Run an hour after he’d landed at the regional airport. He needed to see Monica, to apologize, abjectly, on his knees if necessary. And to get her out of Glenn Donovan’s crosshairs if he could. He had a feeling Donovan would not be pleased about the cover story in Celebrity News. Maybe he could find a way to deflect that wrath onto himself rather than her.

  He entered the Bachelor House warily, hoping he could make it to his room without getting involved in any conversations until he’d packed his clothes and stowed them in the car. Vain hope. As he leaned over his door, sliding in the key card, something hard hit him in the middle of his back.

  “You son of a bitch!” Brendan yelled from somewhere behind him.

  Paul glanced at the floor. A blue rubber ball rolled at his feet.

  “A racquetball?” he said incredulously. “You hit me with a racquetball? You couldn’t even find a softball?”

  “I’d have hit you with a boulder if I’d had one handy.” Brendan’s mouth was drawn up like a trap. “I hope it hurt.”

  Paul shrugged. “It stings.”

  Brendan squared his shoulders. “Good. You ought to be ashamed to show your face around here, hurting Ronnie that way.”

  Paul closed his eyes and counted to ten. “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you Ronnie knew all about me and Monica, just like she knew all about me being a ringer on the show.”

  Brendan narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.”

  “I told you you wouldn’t believe me.” Paul opened the door to his room and walked in, pulling his duffle out of the closet. “You might ask yourself just how upset Ronnie looked today, though.”

  “She was mad.” Brendan’s eyes were still narrow.

  “At me?” Paul raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Brendan sighed, flopping into an armchair near the window. “Not so much, now that you mention it. She was real mad at Mr. Donovan, though. Cause he brought Billy Joe back.”

  “Billy Joe?” Paul cocked an eyebrow. “No shit? I guess that makes sense. Better him than me. But if she’s really pissed at him, that makes you a shoo-in to be Mr. Right.”

  Brendan drew himself upright, the picture of injured dignity. “I don’t want to win that way.”

  Paul turned to stare at him. He was looking a lot like a five-year-old again. “Take the win, Brendan,” he said gently. “However you get it. You deserve it.”

  “Well, okay.” His forehead furrowed in a slightly less thunderous frown. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Find Monica and get the hell out of here.” He emptied the dresser drawer into his duffle and turned toward the closet.

  “She’s not here.” Brendan’s frown stayed in place.

  Paul froze, his heart dropping to his toes. “Where did she go? When?”

  “She left right after you did, that same day. I don’t know where she went, though. Sid might.”

  “I’ll see if I can find him.”

  Brendan’s forehead was furrowed again. Evidently, he wasn’t buying Paul’s plan of action. “But don’t you need to talk to Mr. Donovan?”

  “Not if I can help it,” Paul muttered, dumping the last of his shirts into the duffle. “Look, I left the tux and the other clothes the show provided in the closet. Would you let the wardrobe people know so they can pick them up?”

  “I guess.” Brendan’s forehead was still furrowed, which gave him a sort of bloodhound puppy vibe. “You should say goodbye to Ronnie too.”

  Paul checked the closet one last time. “If I see her before I go, I’ll apologize and say goodbye.”

  “You should find her.” Brendan’s chin raised again mutinously. “You should go out and look for her now.”

  Paul sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, the kid had a point. “Okay. I’ll go by the main building on my way out. Maybe I’ll find Sid there.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Paul wasn’t sure whether Brendan was accompanying him to make sure he looked for Ronnie or because he was curious about what was going to happen next. Paul was a little curious himself. He didn’t see anyone around the terrace, and he deliberately avoided the hall that led to Donovan’s conference room.

  Ronnie was standing in the lobby with two of the makeup girls, both of whom began edging toward the outer door when they saw him.

  “Hi Ronnie,” he said.

  She turned his way, then broke into one of her dazzling smiles. “Hey, Paul. I didn’t know you’d come back yet. Where’s Monica? Are you going back on the show now?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea after that magazine article.”

  Ronnie’s lower lip extended in a pout. “Well, I don’t see why not. If I don’t mind, why should anybody else?”

  He managed to keep from rolling his eyes. “I think the producers probably feel like it would ruin the suspense. Since people wouldn’t think you and I could end up together.”

  Ronnie’s eyes widened. “But we never could have ended up together anyway. I mean, you had Monica.”

  He gave her a careful smile. “Right, well, nobody else was supposed to know that. Outside the production company, that is. I don’t suppose you know where she went when she left?”

  Ronnie shrugged. “No. I wish I’d gone with her. She left before I thought of it.”

  Lucky Monica. “I guess I’ll try to find her on my own, then. Good luck with the finale, Ronnie.”

  Ronnie’s lip extended farther. “Thanks. I guess.”

  “Paul. Finally!” Sid headed into the main room at a brisk trot.

  Paul picked up the duffle again. “I’m ready to leave. I’m all packed. You can tell Donovan I’ll go quietly.”

  “We need to talk to you.” Sid took hold of his arm. “Come with me and we’ll find him.”

  “I don’t need to talk to Glenn, I need to find Monica. Do you know where she went?”

  “No. I only talked to her a couple of times after she took off, and she didn’t tell me where she was. Come on, we need to find Glenn.” Sid started to push him toward the door.

  Paul dug in his heels. “I’ve got nothing to say to Donovan. Di
d Monica go back to LA?”

  “Who knows? That was Glenn’s suggestion, but I don’t know if she took it.” Sid’s glance darted right and left. “Look, you need to meet with Glenn somewhere else. A lot of reporters and photographers have been hanging around the resort. You don’t want them to see you here right now.”

  “I don’t want Paul to go.” Ronnie stepped in front of him. “I think it’s stupid. I don’t even like Billy Joe.”

  Sid narrowed his eyes. “We’ve got no choice now that those pictures have come out—Paul’s out and Billy Joe’s back in. But we can do a special episode with just you and Paul. Except Paul needs to talk to Glenn about it and keep out of sight until it’s done.”

  “I do?” Paul folded his arms across his chest. “Why?”

  “Because the reporters will want interviews. They’ll ask you about Monica. And Ronnie.” Sid ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing in tufts. “We won’t be able to control the story if you talk to the reporters. We have to shoot the special episode first.”

  “A special episode including what?”

  Sid shrugged. “You apologize to Ronnie for breaking her heart. She cries, maybe throws a punch at you. It’ll be gold, pure gold.”

  Paul stared down at him, then turned to Ronnie. “Is your heart broken?”

  Ronnie shrugged. “Not really.”

  “Do you want to punch me?”

  Ronnie grimaced. “Of course not.”

  “Okay. Sorry if I caused you any embarrassment.”

  Ronnie shrugged again. “No problem.”

  Paul turned back to Sid. “Apology offered and accepted. Threats of violence averted. No need for any special episode. I’m leaving.”

  Sid’s face paled to the color of dirty milk. “You can’t leave. You’ve got a contract—maybe it’s not with this show, but it’s with Fairstein. If you don’t do what Glenn says, they’ll bounce you from Finding Miss Right. I can guarantee you’ll never write another show for the company.”