Catch a Rising Star (11 page)

She shrugs. “I watch
Legacy
. So sue me. Sheesh.”

I can’t believe it. “Why didn’t you ever just say so?”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings after the way they dropped you. But you’re the one who got me hooked on the show in the
first place.”

“Dan, I never asked anyone to stop watching it. Good grief. I never stopped watching it myself.”

I turn to Laini with an is-there-something-you’d-like-to-tell-me look. She stares back with total innocence. “Oh, not me.
The only thing I know about that show is what you’ve told me. As far as I’m concerned, soaps just cause college freshmen to
look for unrealistic romance and dowdy housewives to fantasize about a life they’ll never have with men that are way out of
their league in the first place.”

I dip a fat shrimp into cocktail sauce and allow the taste to explode across my tongue. “Hey! How would you feel if I talked
that way about accountants? All those budgets making people fantasize about how they might actually get out of debt. Utter
garbage!” I toss a napkin at her.

She laughs and catches it easily. “Touché.”

“How’s the job search going?” Dancy asks offhandedly as she takes another sip of peach tea.

Laini pauses a second then looks from Dancy to me. “Actually, I’ve decided to get out of accounting. I’m going to go back
to school for interior design.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. How can Laini just change careers like that? Presto change-o. Two weeks ago, Laini was talking
about starting her own company. Now she’s decided to get out of accounting altogether?

“I never really liked numbers, you know. I was just good at math. Dad was a hotshot accountant and after he died, I don’t
know, I just felt like I should follow in his footsteps. It seemed to mean a lot to Mom.”

“Oh,” Dancy and I say in unison. It’s terrible to be at a loss for words when your best friend is baring her soul. But to
be honest, I don’t know what to say and knowing me, if I tried to make her feel better I’d end up making it a lot worse. Dancy’s
the one who usually comes through in these situations. But she seems preoccupied with her chicken marsala. I give her a little
kick under the table.

She frowns and shrugs. Looks like it’s up to me. “Okay, where did this whole idea of interior design come from?”

“I’ve always loved decorating. You know that.”

It’s true. Hers is really the only style in our little apartment that has any class to it. I’m hopelessly color-blind, and
Dancy always has her nose in a book. She’d be fine with white, bare walls.

“Remember during college theater—I made the sets?”

Dancy gives a little laugh. “I remember you always had paint on your hands or in your hair. And Robert Candor was always yelling
at you for using the wrong colors.”

Laini jerks her chin. “Robert. What did he know about designing anything? Besides I read somewhere recently that all men are
at least partially color-blind.”

“So based on your job in college tent theater, you’re going to give up accounting?” Dancy asks.

In my mind’s eye, I see our red-haired friend covered in paint and carrying plates of cookies and pastries to practices. “Hey,
you were really great. Wasn’t she, Dan?”

“Yep. Very talented.” She slips another bite into her mouth and keeps her gaze on her plate.

I scowl at Dancy. What’s her deal tonight?

“Laini, I think you have a real shot at it, if you’re sure you really want to give up accounting. I support you one hundred
percent.”

“Thanks.” Laini beams. “I always wanted to be an interior designer, but my parents weren’t too keen on the idea. I took some
classes when I could slip them in without Mom and Dad realizing they were paying for extra classes.”

“Sneaky,” Dancy says and reaches for another slice of bread—so far she’s eaten an entire basket by herself. If anyone recognizes
emotional eating when she sees it, it’s me.

“Dancy, are you okay?” I ask.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Laini and I exchange a look. Dancy’s voice trembles and her lower lip is quivering. “Okay, fine. I didn’t get the promotion.”

It takes a second for her words to sink in. Then I realize what she’s saying. “They didn’t make you a full-fledged editor?”
This is outrageous. “They’re nuts!”

Laini frowns. “Who got it? Not Fran?”

“No, thank God. You wouldn’t be Tabby’s only unemployed friend if they’d given it to Fran.”

“If not Fran, then who? I thought she was the only other person in the office going for it.”

“She was.”

“Well then?” This is starting to feel like Who’s on First.

Dancy shrugs. “Some jerk coming over from the London office. Jack Quinn.”

“Do you know him?”

She shakes her head. “No. But I will since I’ll be his assistant.” Tears travel down her cheeks.

“What? Dancy?” I grab her arm because she looks like she might croak.

She points. I turn and my stomach rolls. Brian is sitting at a nearby table with an older couple. I’m about to duck when he
notices me and grins widely. I swear, I should have known better than to bring my friends to Brian’s favorite restaurant.
But who knew he’d be coming here tonight? He has to save for three months to afford a meal at such an expensive restaurant.

I’m just about to excuse myself and head to the bathroom when the smartly dressed woman he’s with slides out of her seat,
motions him to follow, and makes a beeline for me. I slide my gaze over her and realize this must be Brian’s mom. She owns
her own little vintage boutique on Horatio Street, near Eighth Avenue. Brian says she actually serves champagne to her customers
while they browse.

I paste on a smile as she approaches, with Brian following at her heels like a lapdog.

“You’re Felicia,” she says, completely ignoring my two friends. “I mean Tabitha Brockman.” Her eyes are bright, voice breathless,
and I have to wonder if she’s been drinking a bit too much wine. “I can’t believe my little boy is dating Tabitha Brockman.”
She turns abruptly to Brian. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Oh brother. Before he has a chance to introduce me as his
girlfriend, I reach out my hand. She latches on and pumps my arm like she’s trying to make me fly. “It’s just wonderful to
meet you. Can I have your autograph?”

“Mother,” Brian says, protesting but obviously pleased with himself. “I’m sure Tabby and her friends want to be left alone.”

“Oh, well, what’s it going to hurt for her to scratch her name across a napkin?”

Or more to the point, why would anyone ask me to? Still, this is my first instance of intrusion since I’ve been back on the
show, and the woman is obviously a huge fan.

“It’s all right. I don’t mind.” I take the napkin and pen, spirits momentarily lifted.

“I’m so glad they brought Felicia back.” Now I recognize the brightness of her eyes for what it is. This woman’s actually
about to cry.

“Rudolph has been so unhappy. He’s just never found anyone else who completes him the way you do.”

Oh boy. Security? Is it just me, or is my stalker’s mother now acting suspiciously like a stalker herself? What if this is
a family of crazies? And my mother wants me to marry Brian and raise a bunch of little stalker kids?

“Well, thank you for your support. I’ll be sure to pass along your comments to our producer.”

“You will?” She takes the proffered pen and signed napkin and clutches them to her ample bosom.

“Sure she will,” Dancy pipes in. “Well, are we about finished here?” She looks up at Brian’s mom, who can’t seem to tear herself
away. “Tabitha needs her beauty rest. She has an early call in the morning.”

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry.” The woman’s face turns bright red and she backs away like I’m the queen or something. “I’d love
to see you come into my boutique,” she says. “I’ll give you half off anything in the store, if you’ll mention the shop in
one of your interviews.”

“That’s very generous of you. I’ll speak to my publicist about it.” I stand and turn and my gaze falls on Brian. “Well, you
two enjoy the rest of your meal.”

“I didn’t know you had a publicist,” Laini whispers as we walk away.

I send her a wink. “I don’t.”

We laugh together, but inside I’m fighting a knot in the pit of my stomach. Today must be my day for disappointments in the
man department. First the gorgeous guy with two kids. Then the guy I’d love to get away from, not only won’t he leave me alone,
but now I’ve apparently passed muster with his mom. Aren’t I lucky?

R
ight now I’d give my right arm for a man to do the heavy lifting. Laini is diving right in to her newly rediscovered love
of decorating and is going crazy with our apartment. At the moment we are lugging an enormously heavy oak wardrobe up the
stairs. She insisted we need it for our bedroom and talked me into shelling out big bucks for it. Wish she’d have talked me
into paying for the delivery!

But I have to admit she has a good eye for furniture. I just wish she had bigger muscles.

Dancy groans under the weight of the huge box. “Please, can’t we just set it down for a second?”

“Okay,” I say. “Good idea. On three. One, two, three.”

We all breathe audible sighs once we’re relieved of the weight. “Note to you, Laini,” Dancy says, still huffing. “Next time
you want to bring home a couch or appliance or anything over fifty pounds, bring home a sexy, muscly man to go with it.”

Laini grins. “Believe me. I wish I knew one.”

“Don’t we all.”

“I know some,” I say in a nongloating way. “But none of them want me.”

“Brian does,” Laini says with a laugh.

“Oh please. Don’t give me a nervous breakdown.”

“We’re pathetic,” Dancy says. “We’re going to be living together when we’re eighty.”

“Well, I can think of worse company,” I say entirely from my heart. “But I’m not giving up. Let’s have a party.”

Dancy gasps. Something Dancy rarely does, so Laini and I are immediately intrigued. “Let’s have an unveiling Felicia Fontaine
party.”

“What? That’s not what I meant.” Although the idea does have merit. Actually . . .

Laini adds an enthusiastic, “That’s a great idea! When’s the unveiling, Tabs?”

“Um. I’m still wearing gauze, and we tape about three weeks in advance, so it’ll be at least a month. Is that too far away?”

“That’s perfect,” Laini says. “We’ll have plenty of time to prepare the guest list and decide on a menu. It can be a New Year’s
Eve–slash–Felicia unveiling party! What do you say?”

We’re all very into the idea of killing two birds with one stone.

“In the meantime, let’s get this thing up the stairs so I can soak in an aromatherapy bath,” Dancy groans. “I’m going to need
it.”

We’re close enough to our apartment at the top of the stairs that when the door buzzes, we can hear it.

We all look down and can see through the glass door that… Brian is standing there, nose to the glass looking in.

I can’t believe it.

“Weasel boy,” Dancy says, bitterness edging her voice. “Do you want to buzz him in?”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Laini says.

“Hey, wait a minute, guys. If we let him in, he can help us carry the wardrobe inside.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Dancy reaches for me and misses. “Grab her, Laini!”

“Tabby! If you let him in, he’s going to think you want to date him.” Those words from Laini are enough to accomplish what
a full body block failed to do. I stop and stare down at him. He’s just standing there like a puppy in a window, waiting to
be noticed. My heart sort of goes out to him. And he
does
have man muscles that we desperately need. So, in a moment of weakness, I do what I know I shouldn’t do. I step inside the
apartment and buzz the guy in.

I mean, maybe it’s a sign that he’s supposed to help, since he showed up right when we needed some muscle power.

A sign, my foot,” Dancy nearly explodes later that night after Brian helps us get the wardrobe settled, eats us out of house
and home, and finally takes the hint we’d like him to leave when Dancy gives a great big yawn and says, “Brian, you must be
exhausted after all that moving. I know I’m ready to hit the sack.” I let Brian out, deflect a lip-lock, and kiss his cheek
in farewell. A harmless “thank you.”

But Dancy doesn’t see it that way. She’s livid. “I can’t believe you kissed that guy!”

“It was more of a peck on the cheek than a kiss. You make it sound like we made out.”

“When you don’t even like a guy, you shouldn’t lead him on just to save you the trouble of moving furniture.”

Okay, her high and mighty attitude is beginning to tick me off a little. I mean, come on. I fed him, let him watch my TV,
and gave him a kiss on the cheek. I don’t think I promised forever.

“Why do you care anyway? Do you have a thing for Brian now? Because I’d be happy to have you take him off my hands.”

She scowls at me. “Do whatever you want. But don’t come crying to me when you can’t get rid of him.”

She stomps off and slams her bedroom door. I press my palm against my aching forehead. I hate fighting with my friends. It
just feels wrong. I mean, it’s inevitable when three women share an apartment. There will be tension no matter how close we
are, how much we care for each other. Sometimes, we have to each go to our corners and catch our breath, tend the wounds,
and come back, ready to tap gloves and make it about friendship once again.

In my corner, I switch on the TV and flip through the channels. The sound of “Did you ever know that you’re my hero?” stops
the surfing.
Beaches
? How can I stay mad at my friend when Barbara Hershey is dying of heart disease and her best friend Bette Midler is nursing
her? Sort of. Darn it. I can’t let Dancy go to bed mad. What if she wakes up in the night with heart disease or is abducted
by aliens (and who has proof there
aren’t
any)?

Shoving up from the couch, I pad down the hall to Dancy’s room and tap on the door. “Dan?”

“Just a minute.”

But it’s too late; I’ve already opened the door. She’s wiping her eyes. “Oh, Dancy. I’m sorry.”