“Fine,” Tate said, opening the door and unfolding himself from the front seat. “Now we’ve called roll. Can we get this thing over with? I’ve got a show to shoot.” He opened the Audi’s back door, and Moonpie hopped out, trotted over to the Honda, and promptly relieved himself on one of the rear tires.
“Good boy,” Tate said, patting the setter’s head. “Piss on all of ’em, right, Moonpie?”
Val shot him a backward glance as she sprinted toward the gym’s door.
Inside, she approached the knot of people standing around holding clipboards, cell phones, and BlackBerrys. “Barry!” she exclaimed, grasping both the producer’s hands in hers. “And Zeke,” she added, turning to the assistant, who today was inexplicably clad in head-to-toe green camouflage. “So good to see you. Did you have a nice weekend?”
“Where’s our boy?” Adelman asked, giving Val a nodded greeting. He looked meaningfully at the thin gold watch on his wrist. “The photographer wants to get started with the shoot. And I’ve got a conference call to the coast in half an hour.”
“Oh,” she said airily, “Tate’s outside. With Moonpie. We got into heavy traffic, and then, wouldn’t you know it, Tate insisted we stop to get some water for the dog. So hot, today, you know. And setters sometimes get overheated.”
“Can’t have that,” Barry said. “Viewers are very sensitive to any hint of animal cruelty. That’s why we don’t ever show whole fish being prepared on any of our shows.”
“Or lobsters,” Zeke added. “People don’t seem to mind if we roast oysters, or steam clams. But they’re very sensitive to the rights of crustaceans.”
“Crustacean rights?”
Val turned. She hadn’t seen Tate walk up with Moonpie at his heels.
She laughed nervously. “Barry was just saying that TCC steers away from any scenes that might be construed as animal cruelty.”
“Seriously?” Tate asked, looking from Adelman to Zeke.
“Absolutely,” Barry said. “Wendy and I are on the board of Save the Seas, you know. It’s one of our passions.”
“Wendy was chairman of the Party with a Porpoise Ball in May,” Zeke said. “Maybe you saw the photos in Town and Country?”
“Honorary chairman, actually,” Barry said.
“But we raised sixteen thousand, six hundred,” Zeke reminded his boss.
“Have you people ever actually seen my show?” Tate asked. “Vittles is about hunting and fishing.”
“Oh, not really,” Val said quickly. “I mean, yes, technically, in a sense there is some limited talk about hunting, but really, Vittles is about the human connection to the great outdoors. It’s about Tate’s commitment to conservation, and his vision for seasonal, heritage-type cuisine.”
“I kill things,” Tate said flatly. “And then I cook ’em. Moonpie helps. He’ll eat a live shellcracker if you don’t watch him good. That’s what my show’s about.”
Zeke’s face paled. Val fixed Tate with a laser stare.
“People?” The photographer was standing in the boxing ring, his neck strung with heavy cameras. “So sorry to interrupt, but can we get Mr. Moody into his wardrobe? And see about his makeup? I’m losing the light here, people.”
“Tate?” Val said it pleadingly.
“Ready when you are,” Tate said, walking toward the ring. He turned and gave a sharp whistle. “Come on, Moonpie. Showtime.”
Gina squared her shoulders. “I am a network star,” she told herself. “I am a network star. I am a network star.” She knotted the belt to the satin robe, opened the door, and, head held high, glided out.
The first thing she saw was Tate Moody. He and the dog were in the middle of the boxing ring. Moody was glaring at the photographer, who was glaring right back. The dog was sitting on his haunches, ears back, teeth bared. Deborah Chen and Valerie Foster were fluttering ineffectively around the two men. Scott and the men from the network were outside the ring, each talking on a cell phone while holding a BlackBerry.
Tate Moody was not dressed in a satin robe, and he was certainly not wearing any baby blue satin boxing trunks, as Deborah had promised. In fact, he was wearing pretty much what he wore every time she saw him around the Morningstar Studios, which consisted of a pair of faded blue jeans and a golf shirt.
“Hey,” she said sharply, climbing under the ropes and into the ring. “What’s the big idea?”
Moody’s head swiveled around. All the others simply stared at her.
“You see?” the photographer said, gesturing toward Gina. “This is how you were supposed to dress. Your producer agreed.”
The photographer stopped glaring at Tate long enough to smile at Gina. “Just Joel,” he said, offering his hand and flashing dimples under both eyes, which were a bright blue, with unnaturally long, doelike black lashes.
“Gina Foxton,” she said. “I thought—”
“Nice outfit, Reggie,” Tate drawled. “Did you forget the pants?”
Now Scott Zaleski was climbing inside the ring.
“Now, wait just a minute,” he said. “Our understanding was that both Tate and Gina would be dressed in boxing gear for this shoot. Our publicist has pitched this story to the entertainment weeklies this way.” He lowered his voice a little. “That’s what we told the TCC folks we were doing. That’s why they flew all the way down here today.”
“Our understanding?” Tate leaned back a little, hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know who cooked up this whole deal, but I never agreed to anything except having my picture taken.”
“Uh, Tate,” said Valerie Foster, tapping him on the shoulder. “Actually…”
“It’s supposed to be a boxing match.” Now Deborah had jumped into the fray. “Why is this such a difficult concept for you people? That’s why we’re in a gym today. That’s why we rented a boxing ring. And why both of you were supposed to be wearing satin boxing trunks. Pink for you,” she said, nodding at Gina. “And blue for you,” she said, turning her winning gaze toward Tate Moody. “Now, be a good sport and get dressed, please?”
“Nope,” Tate said. “I didn’t get any memo about playing dress-up. Wouldn’t have agreed to it if I had. Now, I don’t mind having my picture made. I don’t even mind having it made with Reggie, here. You all can pitch it any way you want.” He looked from Deborah, to Just Joel, to Scott, and then, last, to Gina.
“All right with you?” he asked pleasantly.
“Fine with me,” Gina said.
She wanted to leap into the air and offer Tate Moody a high five. Instead, she fled into the bathroom to change into her own clothes.
Chapter 28
All right, people,” Just Joel said with an air of bored detachment.
He grabbed Tate by the arm. “You, I want here.” He maneuvered Gina so that she was inches from Moody. “And you here.”
He raised the big camera and locked it onto a tripod. “I want the two of you to stare into each other’s eyes. Really staring. And loathing. Complete loathing. Can we at least do that?”
Gina locked eyes with Tate Moody. He winked.
She clenched her teeth. “Cut it out.”
“Make me.”
“Tate,” Just Joel called. “I’m not buying the hatred. Let me see your killer instinct.”
He cocked an eyebrow and growled.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Gina said.
“That’s it, Gina,” Joel said, clicking off three quick shots. “Narrow your eyes like that again.”
She narrowed. It came naturally.
“Ooh,” Tate taunted. “Now I’m really scared.”
“Beautiful, Gina,” Joel said, clicking again. “You’re a warrior queen. He’s invading your territory. Show him who’s boss.”
“Gladly,” Gina said, shoving Tate so hard he fell over backward.
Click. Click. Click.
Moonpie, clamped tightly in Valerie’s arms, gave a sharp bark of protest.
“Great stuff,” Barry Adelman called from outside
the ring. “Let’s get some more of that.”
Gina glowered down at Tate Moody. Instinctively, he crossed both hands over his crotch. Then, genuinely irritated, he scrambled to his feet.
“You’re mad, Tate,” Joel coached, circling around the two now. “Pissed as hell. Who does this emasculating bitch think she is? Huh?”
Tate leaned in toward Gina and scowled.
Click. Click.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“What?”
“Have you been drinking?”
She blushed. “A little vodka in my orange juice. It was the only way I could get up the nerve to come out dressed in those stupid boxing trunks.”
“Gina?” Joel said, “Are we losing our edge?”
“Wuss,” Tate whispered.
She furrowed her brow, balled up her fists, and appeared ready to pummel Tate Moody within an inch of his life.
Click. Click.
“You didn’t look that bad in the robe,” Tate offered, faking a jab to Gina’s chin. “You should show your legs more often.”
Click. Click.
This time her annoyance was real. “You sound just like Scott.”
“Just one man’s professional opinion,” Tate said. “Use what you got. That’s all I’m saying.”
“And that’s all I’ve got?” she retorted. “Good legs? A set of boobs? No brain, no talent?”
“Hey!” Tate said, poking her in the chest. “Don’t get all bent out of shape. If you didn’t want to wear the stupid outfit, you should have just said so. What? You’re so dick-whipped you can’t stand up for your own rights?”
He didn’t even see it coming.
Cold-cocked, with a roundhouse right to the jaw, Tate staggered backward. Gina clutched her right hand in her left and yowled with pain.
Click. Click. Click.
Chapter 29
I think my jaw is dislocated,” Tate said, his fingers gingerly probing the lower half of his face.
“Oh, it is not, you big sissy,” Gina countered. “You wouldn’t be able to talk if that were the case.”
She shifted the bag of ice on her right hand to reveal a bruise roughly the size, shape, and color of a plum forming across her knuckles.
“See what you did?” She held out the hand so he could see the severity of her injury. “It hurts like the dickens. How am I gonna tape a show with my hand like this?”
“What I did?” he sputtered. “You attacked me. It’s a clear case of aggravated assault.”
“I was aggravated, all right,” Gina said. “You deliberately provoked me.”
“Shut up, you two,” Val ordered. She opened a bottle of aspirin, poured out a handful of tablets and gave half to Tate and half to Regina. She looked around the trainer’s room. “Has anybody got a bottle of water?”
“How about some orange juice?” Lisa asked, offering the carton she’d fetched from the women’s locker room.
A half smile flitted across Tate’s bruised face. “Is this the orange juice?”
“Afraid so,” Gina said, trying to suppress her own amusement.
“Might as well,” Tate said. He swallowed the aspirin with a few ounces and handed the carton over to Gina, who did the same.
The door to the trainer’s room opened. Deborah and Scott walked in, their faces glum.
“What now?” Gina asked.
“Well…” Deborah said, giving Scott a sideways glance.
He sat down on the trainer’s table beside Gina. “How’s the hand? Is it broken?”
She wiggled her fingers, wincing. “I’m not going to lie. It hurts,” Gina said. “But tell me what happened. Something’s wrong.”
“Just worried about you,” Scott said, patting her leg awkwardly.
“Barry just left,” Deborah said abruptly.
“What? He just walked out? Did he say anything?” Val asked.
Deborah tossed her hair. “After these two finished their exhibition match, and while they were getting doctored, Barry finished his conference call, and then he told Zeke to call the hotel and cancel their reservation and book seats on the next flight back to New York. Other than that, no, he didn’t say anything. But he didn’t have to. You should have seen the look on his face. He was obviously appalled. As was I,” she added, with a shake of her head. “What a fiasco.”
“I’m sorry,” Gina said. “I blew it. There’s no excuse for the way I acted.”
Deborah fixed Tate with a cold stare. “I have an idea you were provoked. So it wasn’t all your fault.”
“Screw you, lady,” Tate said, jumping up off the table. “This whole boxing match thing was your idea. You engineered the whole thing. The gym, the stupid outfits, all of it. And that photographer. You heard him. He was egging us on. We just gave you what you asked for. I’ve got no apologies.” He jerked his head in Gina’s direction. “And neither should she.”
Gina looked up and smiled wanly. “Still. I’m sorry I hit you so hard.”
He shrugged. “I’ll get over it. See you around.” He turned to his producer. “Let’s roll.”
An awkward silence fell over the trainer’s room after Tate and Val left.
Finally, Lisa cleared her throat. “I’m, uh, gonna go get our stuff,” she told her sister. “Guess I’ll drive us home so you can leave the ice pack on your hand.”
“Good idea,” Scott said.
Cell phone in hand, Deborah started for the door too. “I’ve got to get started doing some damage control,” she said. “I overheard Zeke saying their flight won’t leave for another hour. I’m going to call Barry and try to put a positive spin on things. Joel did show me some of the shots on his digital camera. They’re actually not bad.” She smirked. “I especially like the one of Moody flat on his ass. With a little luck, I think I can still salvage this thing.”
Now it was just the two of them. Scott and Gina.
“Guess I blew it,” Gina said. “For both of us.”
Scott shrugged. “Leave it to Deborah. She’s a pro. She’ll figure a way to make lemonade out of this lemon.” He stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “All this time, I was worried about the other Foxton girl ripping me a new one. You’ve got quite a haymaker on you, Gina. Remind me not to get on your bad side again.”
She shifted the ice pack. “Tate Moody is a redneck jerk. But I shouldn’t have let him get under my skin. I wasn’t raised like that. If my mama saw what I did out there today, she would be having conniptions.”
“You really cleaned his clock,” Scott repeated. “The look on your face. I could see he was getting under your skin. What exactly did he say to set you off like that?”
Dick-whipped, Gina thought. What an ugly phrase. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, repeat it, not to anybody. Anyway, she had stood up for what she believed in. Hadn’t she refused to be photographed in those hideous shorts?
“I don’t even remember,” Gina said finally. “It was all just a blur.”
When Lisa slid behind the wheel of the Honda, Gina gave her a searching look. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive? How much of that vodka did you have?”
“Not that much,” Lisa assured her. “Hardly any. I’m actually more of a Natty Lite girl. Anyway, I only brought the vodka ’cause I thought you might need a little pick-me-up.”
“If you’re sure,” Gina said, leaning back against the headrest. “All I need is for us to get a DUI to make this the hands-down worst day of my life.”
“Hands down,” Lisa chortled, pulling carefully out of the parking lot. “That’s pretty funny. Hands down.”
“Not funny at all,” Gina said, closing her eyes.
“What did the asshole say after I left?” Lisa asked.
“He thinks Deborah can salvage the mess I made. Doesn’t matter. I ruined everything.” She turned and gave Lisa a sad smile. “Sorry about your short-lived showbiz career.”
“Screw it,” Lisa said succinctly. “You can get a new producer. And a new show. Anyway, it was fun while it la
sted. I can’t wait till everybody at home sees the Thanksgiving show. You think I should start looking for an agent?”
“That vodka of yours is making me really woozy,” Gina said, avoiding the subject. “I just want to go home, take some painkillers, and go to bed.”
“Tell me one thing before you nod off?”
“Shoot.”
“What did the Tatester say to make you deck him?”
Gina yawned dramatically. “It was nothing.”
“Then tell me.”
She blushed. “It’s too crude to repeat. And it’s not true.”
Lisa guffawed. “Rude, crude, and socially unacceptable? I live for that kind of stuff. Come on. Tell.”
“He said…”
“What? He said you looked pretty damned hot in that robe?”
“No. I mean, well, yeah, he did say it looked good on me.”
“But that’s not why you socked him in the jaw.”
“Can we just drop this? I’m tired. My hand is throbbing.”
“Tell me what he said and I won’t say another word.”
“He accused me of being dick-whipped. Okay? He said I shouldn’t have let them talk me into putting on that outfit if I didn’t want to do it. And that’s when I punched him. He asked for it. End of story.”
Lisa nodded her approval. “Good ending. Especially since the rest of the morning was such a letdown.”
“How was it a letdown for you?”
“Helloooo?” Lisa said. “You think I got up at the butt-crack of dawn and drove all this way just to watch you nut up over some tight pants? No offense, but I came because I was promised a chance to see Tate Moody up close and personal. Without a shirt.”
She sighed and held up her camera phone. “I didn’t get a single shot.”
Chapter 30
Good news, good news, good news,” Val sang out, her footsteps causing the Vagabond to shake with each phrase.
Moonpie barked a greeting from inside the trailer’s screen door, but there was no sign of his owner.
Deep Dish Page 15
