What I Did For Love Part 32

"Not so fresh."

"Trust me. Your wrinkles are in all the right places." She gave him her tough-girl look so he didn't take her comment as the blathering of a menopausal female who hadn't been on a real date in longer than she could remember. "It's hard for me to believe an actor with your talent has never thought about getting back to work."

"Georgie's career had to come first."

She felt a stab of sympathy for him. What had it been like to possess so much talent and do nothing with it? "Georgie doesn't need you now," she said more gently. "At least not for career advice."

He s.n.a.t.c.hed the contract out of her hands. "Go make your phone calls, d.a.m.n it. I'll look it over."

"Good idea." She stepped out onto the sundeck. Shady and sheltered, it was a great s.p.a.ce for entertaining, but it held only a pair of unmatched metal chairs. She found it odd that someone so polished didn't have more of a social life. She flipped open her phone and checked her office voice mail, then had a lengthy conversation with her father, who'd retired in Phoenix. As they spoke, she forced herself not to spy on Paul through the windows. Next, she called her sister in Milwaukee, but her six-year-old niece answered the phone and launched into a story about a new kitten.

Paul came out onto the sundeck, and Laura broke into her niece's monologue. "He's an amazing actor. Hardly anyone knows that he trained at Juilliard Drama. He also did some really interesting off-Broadway work before he put his career on hold to raise Georgie."

"Who's Julie Yard, Aunt Laura?"

Laura tugged on her hair. "You have no idea how hard I've worked to convince him that he needs to start focusing on himself. As soon as you hear him read, you'll understand why I'm so excited about representing him."

"You're acting weird," the small voice replied. "I'm calling Mom. Mom! Mom!"

"Great. I'll give you a ring next week." Laura flipped her phone closed. "That went better than I expected." A drop of perspiration slithered between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Bulls.h.i.+t. You were talking to your voice mail."

"Or my niece in Milwaukee," she said, c.o.c.ky as could be. "Or Brian Glazer's office. How I do my job isn't your business. Only the results I get."

He waved the contract in front of her. "Just because I signed this d.a.m.ned thing doesn't mean I'm going to auditions. It only means I'll read the script."

Had she really convinced him? She could hardly believe it. "It means you'll go where I tell you." She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the contract and headed back inside, hoping he was following her. "This isn't going to be easy, so you'd better start giving yourself one of those lectures you used to give Georgie about how rejection is part of the business and not to take it personally. It'll be interesting to see if you're as tough as she is."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"More than you can imagine." She picked up her things. "Call me as soon as you finish the script. Oh, and I intend to advance your career by trading on Georgie's good name."

He flushed, angry. "You can't do that."

"Sure I can. She fired us, remember?" As she reached the front door, she stopped and turned back to him. "If I were you, I'd give her a call today instead of freezing her out."

"Yeah. Because your ideas have worked so well in the past."

"Just a suggestion." She let herself out and headed for her car. She wanted to kick up her heels with excitement. She'd crossed her first hurdle, and now all she needed to do was find him work.

As she backed out of his driveway, she reminded herself that getting Paul a job wasn't the only difficult task she faced. She also had to put her condo on the market, trade in her Benz for something cheaper, cancel her vacation in Maui, and stay out of Barneys. All potentially very depressing.

But for right now...She turned up the radio, bobbed her head, and sang her heart out.

Chapter 21.

Georgie lifted her head from the pillows as Bram came out of the bathroom from his morning shower. Two and a half weeks ago, the night after the quarantine had lifted, she'd been faced with the dilemma of whether to move back into the guest room or stay where she was. She'd ended up telling Bram that her old room had so many leftover cooties from Lance and Jade that she couldn't go back. He'd agreed that some cooties were too contagious to risk. lifted her head from the pillows as Bram came out of the bathroom from his morning shower. Two and a half weeks ago, the night after the quarantine had lifted, she'd been faced with the dilemma of whether to move back into the guest room or stay where she was. She'd ended up telling Bram that her old room had so many leftover cooties from Lance and Jade that she couldn't go back. He'd agreed that some cooties were too contagious to risk.

She took a moment admiring him. The jet-black towel draped around his hips turned his lavender eyes to indigo. His hair was damp, and he hadn't shaved for the past few days, giving him a rugged, virile elegance. Her imaginary baby stirred in her womb. She blinked herself back to reality. "When did you say you and Hank Peters were going to start auditioning actors?"

"The Tuesday after our wedding party, as you very well know."

"Really? Only a week and a half away..." They'd gone into preproduction immediately because Hank Peters had a commitment to direct another film in November, and they didn't want to lose him. She let the sheet slip below one breast, a wasted effort as it turned out, since he was already heading into his closet for the jeans and T-s.h.i.+rt that had become his producer's work uniform. "And I'm still first up, right?"

"Will you relax? I promised you the first audition, and you'll get it. But I swear to G.o.d, if you pin your hopes on this..."

"Hard to do with you telling me how unworthy I am."

He popped his head out. "Don't exaggerate. You're a terrific actress and a gifted comic, and you know it."

"But not gifted enough to play Helene?" She experimented with a smirk. "Remember this moment, Bramwell Shepard, because I'm going to make you eat those words."

She wished she could be as confident as she sounded. She'd read the script twice more and begun creating a character log filled with ideas about Helene's backstory and physical mannerisms. But she only had ten days before the audition, and this would be the most complex character she'd ever taken on. She had a lot more work to do before she'd be ready, and she kept losing her focus.

His gaze dipped to her breast. She'd had to force herself not to give in to the urge to shop for the s.e.xiest nighties she could find. Instead, she'd stuck with her normal sleepwear, but her plain white cami and black boxers printed with pirate skulls now lay crumpled on the floor by the bed. She deliberately pulled the sheet up to her chin. "Don't forget we have our last meeting with Poppy at nine."

He groaned and headed back into the closet. "No way am I sitting through any more meetings about floral arrangements and Jordan almonds stamped with the family crest. What the h.e.l.l is a Jordan almond anyway?"

"An almond that tastes like soap." The general uneasiness that had been plaguing her since she realized that Bram now had everything he wanted propelled her out of bed. "The Skip and Scooter wedding extravaganza was your idea, and it's only eight days away. You're not dodging that meeting."

"I'll give you a hundred bucks and another back rub if you let me skip it."

"I don't need a hundred bucks. As for your back rubs...Study an anatomy book, pal, because what you've been rubbing isn't my back."

"And aren't you glad?"

She had to admit she was.

He ended up staying for the meeting.

Poppy Patterson's heavy perfume, exaggerated speech, and clattering charm bracelets drove them both crazy, but she was an imaginative and efficient party planner. She understood that the paparazzi's helicopters would make it impossible to hold an outdoor celebration, and she'd come up with the perfect indoor venue-the magnificent 1920s Eldridge Mansion built in the same English manor house style as the Scofield mansion. With its luxuriously appointed ballroom, it could comfortably hold their two hundred guests, all of whom had been instructed to wear a costume inspired by the show. perfume, exaggerated speech, and clattering charm bracelets drove them both crazy, but she was an imaginative and efficient party planner. She understood that the paparazzi's helicopters would make it impossible to hold an outdoor celebration, and she'd come up with the perfect indoor venue-the magnificent 1920s Eldridge Mansion built in the same English manor house style as the Scofield mansion. With its luxuriously appointed ballroom, it could comfortably hold their two hundred guests, all of whom had been instructed to wear a costume inspired by the show.

Aaron and Chaz joined in as they sat around Bram's dining room table to go over the final arrangements. They started with the decorations and ended with the food. Everything on the menu played a part in an episode of Skip and Scooter, Skip and Scooter, beginning with the hors d'oeuvres: mini deep-dish pizzas; tiny, heart-shaped peanut b.u.t.ter sandwiches; and bite-size Chicago hot dogs-no ketchup. beginning with the hors d'oeuvres: mini deep-dish pizzas; tiny, heart-shaped peanut b.u.t.ter sandwiches; and bite-size Chicago hot dogs-no ketchup.

The meal was more formal, and Chaz began reading the menu aloud. "Rocket and Parmesan salad, episode forty-one, 'Scooter Meets the Mayor.' Rum-glazed lobster tails with mango, episode two, 'Nice Horsey.' Black pepperseared beef tenderloin, episode sixty-three, 'Skip's Lost Weekend.'"

"Rocket?" Bram yawned. "Sounds flammable."

"It's arugula," Chaz replied. "You like it." She eyed Poppy, who was dressed in a champagne knit St. John suit with goggle-size designer sungla.s.ses pushed on top of her brunette socialite's bob. "I'm glad you got rid of that foie gras mousse c.r.a.p."

From the beginning Poppy had let it be known she resented dealing with a currently purple-haired twenty-year-old who wasn't a rock star. "It was mentioned in episode twenty-eight, 'The Scofield Curse.'"

"When Scooter fed it to the dog. dog."

Bram's eyes glazed over as the discussion went on. The past few weeks had been odd. Bram left for the studio early in the morning and didn't return until late. She missed him in a way she couldn't exactly define...just that life seemed flatter without their verbal sparring. Even their nightly s.e.xual romps didn't quite compensate. Their lovemaking was fun and exciting, but something was missing.

Of course, something was missing. Trust. Respect. Love. A future.

Except...She'd developed a grudging respect for him. She didn't know another man who'd have taken Chaz in, and she loved the way he'd find the homeliest woman in the crowd and eye-smolder her until she felt like a supermodel. He'd also acquired a surprisingly strong work ethic. But fundamentally, Bram had always been out for himself, and that would never change.

Eventually, Poppy packed up her python bag, releasing a great puff of perfume. "I have a small surprise planned for the evening," she announced. "Just so you know. One of the special touches I've made my trademark. You'll love it."

Bram snapped out of his preoccupation. "What kind of surprise?"

"Now, now. Spontaneity is everything."

"I'm not too crazy about spontaneity," Georgie said.

Poppy's charm bracelets clattered. "You hired me to arrange a spectacular party, and that's what I'm doing. You'll be over the moon. I promise."

Bram was impatient to get away, and he cut off Georgie's protest. "As long as I don't have to wear tights or drink lite beer, go ahead."

Poppy left soon after, and Bram headed off to the studio.

Georgie wanted to edit more film, and she needed to work on her character log for Helene, but first she called April. They'd been working together long-distance on Georgie's gown and accessories, and her last fitting was coming up. When their conversation ended, she jotted down some more thoughts about Helene, but her attention kept wandering, and she finally let herself go upstairs to look at the last footage she'd shot-a group of single mothers trying to make a living at a minimum-wage job. Hearing firsthand accounts of these working women's lives once again reminded her of how privileged she was.

Rory had helped her escape the paparazzi on her photographic excursions by offering one of her own garages as a place for Georgie to stash a car the paps wouldn't recognize. When Georgie wanted to leave the house without being followed, she slipped through the back gate and used Rory's driveway to drive off in the Toyota Corolla Aaron had leased for her. So far none of the paps was the wiser, and hauling around video equipment had provided her with a degree of anonymity she hadn't antic.i.p.ated. Although the subjects she interviewed knew who she was, she found herself moving around with a small degree of freedom.

Several hours had pa.s.sed when Chaz poked her head in. "Your old man's moving back into the guesthouse."

Georgie's head shot up from her monitor. "My dad?"

Chaz tugged on her fluorescent purple bangs. "He said they didn't get all the mold out of his house. Personally, I think he just wants to freeload off Bram."

Her father hadn't taken any of her calls since she'd fired him, so why had he suddenly shown up? She didn't need another lecture about her bad judgment and general incompetence, and she definitely didn't want to talk about Laura. Firing her might have been good business, but she couldn't feel completely right about it. She wished Bram were here.

Aaron wandered in from his errands, his arms full of packages. "Your father's downstairs."

"So I heard." She wanted to finish her film editing, not deal with the inevitable, and she stalked across the room to Chaz. "You listen to me...If there's even a tiny part of you that doesn't hate everything about me, would you keep him away from me, just for another hour? Please."

Chaz took her time thinking it over. "I will..." She smirked. "But only if you eat something first."

"Stop nagging."

Chaz responded with a megasmirk.

Thanks to Chaz's menus, Georgie had gained back the weight she'd lost, but that didn't ease her irritation. "Fine! But the hour doesn't start until I'm finished."

"I'll be back in ten minutes."

And she was, bearing two plates: one with a salmon-topped salad chock-full of fresh vegetable goodies, the other an enormous submarine sandwich stuffed with three different kinds of meat, cheese, and guacamole. Georgie and Aaron exchanged resigned looks as Chaz slammed the salad in front of him and the fat sub before Georgie.

"You need the calories," Chaz said when Georgie begged to trade. "Aaron doesn't."

Georgie grabbed the sandwich. "Now you're a big nutrition expert."

"Chaz is an expert at everything," Aaron said. "Just ask her."

Chaz folded her arms and looked smug. "I know Becky finally talked to you yesterday."

"She wants me to take a look at her computer, that's all," he said.

"You're such a moron. I don't know why I waste my time."

Georgie knew, but she wasn't stupid enough to point out that Chaz was a natural nurturer.

With lunch nearly over, Georgie made Chaz go back downstairs to watch out for her father. Aaron left to get the oil changed on her car, and Georgie returned to her editing. An hour ticked by.

"May I come in?"

Startled, she looked up to see her father standing in the doorway. He wore gray shorts, a light blue polo, and he needed a haircut. He nodded toward the computer. "What are you doing?"

He was certain to criticize, but she told him anyway. "New hobby. I've been shooting some film."

His answering silence unnerved her. She fiddled with the computer mouse. "Everybody deserves a hobby." She lifted her chin. "I bought editing equipment. Just for fun."

He rubbed his index finger with his thumb. "I can see."

"Is something wrong with that?"

"No. I'm just surprised."

He was surprised because the idea hadn't come from him.

A shrieking silence filled the room. She made herself sit straighter in her chair. "Dad, I know you don't approve of the way I've been doing things, but I'm not going to discuss it with you anymore."

He s.h.i.+fted his weight, nodded. "I...just wondered if you had any idea where the fuse box is located in the guesthouse. One of the circuits blew, and I didn't want to poke around without asking first."

"Fuse box?"

"Never mind. I'll check with Chaz." His footsteps faded down the hall.

She stared at the empty doorway. He'd been acting so strangely since the splas.h.i.+ng incident in the pool. She needed to talk to him-really talk-but hadn't she been trying to do that for years?

She glanced toward her monitor. He had a good eye. She wished she could show him some of the footage she'd shot, but she needed his support, not his criticism. If they could only...relax together.

A wisp of memory skidded through her.