Extreme Bachelor (11 page)

“That’s what I need to explain,” he said,
and in what was possibly the greatest straight-man role in the
history of theater, he leaned forward, his gaze intent. “There was
no father, no brother. That was my boss. The talk of a brother was
just . . . code.”

“Code.”

He nodded.

Whatever she had thought, she had not
expected this, some fantastic tale of foster homes and code-speak
and God knew what else, and Leah burst out laughing. Maybe the
other guys had put him up to it. Maybe she was being punked. Maybe
he had turned schizophrenic in the last few years and actually
believed his delusions. But she wasn’t stupid enough to fall for
it—he was forgetting that she had been there, every Sunday. That
she would answer the phone and his dad would ask how she was doing.
That she’d seen pictures of his damn brother.

Michael clasped his hands tightly together.
“Damn, but this is really a lot harder than I thought it would be,”
he muttered, and glanced up again, looking, oddly, very tired. “I
couldn’t tell you the truth about me. I couldn’t tell you that I
grew up in foster homes and that I didn’t work for an Austrian
company, and that I knew, from the time we started dating, until
the time I had to leave, that I would leave, because that was my
job. At the time, I was more committed to the job than I was to
you, and that, I think, was perhaps the biggest mistake of my
life.”

The punch line was coming any minute now.
Leah polished off her tuna sandwich, waiting for him to say it, to
deliver the big laugh.

But when he didn’t
deliver, Leah squinted at him. “So? Are you going to tell me what
the big ‘mystery’ job was?” she asked, making invisible quotation
marks with her fingers. “I bet I can guess. You were really . .
.
Bond. James Bond
,” she said in her best British accent, and then laughed at
her joke.

But Michael didn’t crack a smile, just kept
looking at her like his puppy had just died.

“Double-Oh-Seven,” she said. “Man of
Steel.”

“Man of Steel was Superman,” he solemnly
corrected her.

“Oh.”

“But yeah, it was something like
Double-Oh-Seven.”

Leah choked on a laugh. “Shut up, Michael,
you’re killing me. Come on, what was it really?”

He leaned across the table and said low,
“CIA.”

Leah blinked and then burst out laughing.
She slapped the table a couple of times in a fit of laughter so
loud that several people turned in her direction, and in fact, from
the corner of her eye, she could see Trudy’s head crane above the
others to look at her. “Oh God, that is hilarious,” she said
breathlessly, still giggling. “I don’t know about the game you’re
playing—and don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a little sick—but my
hat is off to you. That has got to be the greatest excuse ever
invented by a guy. It’s a classic! I haven’t laughed this hard in
five years.”

He did not laugh, did not even smile. He
reached across the table and caught her hand. “I could not possibly
be more serious,” he said quietly. “I was an operative for fourteen
years. When I met you, I had been called back to New York to
consult a foreign government.”

He looked completely earnest, but Leah was
beginning to wonder if he really was delusional. She quickly
withdrew her hand from his. “Stop it,” she said sternly. “Do you
need to maybe take a pill or something? Something to help you
manage those hallucinations you’re having?”

“At the time, I wanted to tell you,” he
said, doggedly continuing his outrageous tale. “But my boss
wouldn’t hear of it—it would have blown months and months of work.
And then I got sent back out.”

“Oh. And it naturally flows that because you
were a CIA guy,” she said, stabbing the air with both hands to
emphasize that ridiculous notion, “you couldn’t commit?”

His frown went deeper. “My job wouldn’t have
made it very easy, but it wasn’t impossible. I just got cold feet,
and it . . . it was a convenient excuse.”

“A convenient and a completely whacked-out
excuse, you mean,” she said, no longer smiling. Frankly, she was
seething. “So you basically forced me into this lunch, forced me to
hear you out, and you hand me this crap?” She pushed aside her
plate. “Thanks, Michael,” she said cheerfully. “Thanks for that
laugh and clearing everything up for me. Now if you will excuse me,
I am going to go and run a few errands before the afternoon
session.”

She stood up. “Oh, by the way . . . I don’t
know if you said all that to try and make yourself feel better, or
if you really think I am that gullible, or better yet, that I even
give a shit after all this time, but that was the best line I have
ever heard. And I can’t wait to share.” She marched off in the
direction of Trudy’s table before he could respond.

She could not wait to tell them that her
extreme ex-boyfriend claimed to have dumped her because he was a
big world spy.

Oh God, what a laugh.

Subject: You will DIE

From: Leah Kleinschmidt

To: Lucy Frederick

Time: 11:01 pm

When you hear this, you will fall out of
your chair laughing and David will have to resuscitate you. So Mr.
Extreme Bachelor corners me and makes me have lunch with him today
to tell me that the big reason he broke up with me was because he
was . . . drum roll, please . . . a CIA SPY.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!

Subject: Re: You will DIE

From: Lucy Frederick

To: Leah Kleinschmidt

Time: 7:30 am

NO WAY!!! I don’t believe you! No man is
that stupid. Well, except for Dick Dimarco, remember him? Anyway, I
am shocked and dismayed. Altho, come to think of it, it might
explain why no one ever saw or heard from him again . . . I always
did think that was sort of strange. It seems like SOMEone would
have run into him or heard from him, but I gotta tell you, I saw
Jerry, Joey . . . whatever his name was, the guy that was always
hanging out with Michael and that guy Rex? Anyway, I ran into him
at a party a couple of years ago, and when I asked him if he ever
heard from Michael anymore, he got this really strange look on his
face and said no, that no one did, that he was out of commission.
What did THAT mean? It’s just weird, that’s all I am saying.

So okay, I decided against puce. I am now
looking into gold. Is gold okay? You didn’t seem very excited about
puce.

Subject: Favor

From: Michael

To: Jack

Time: 4:00 pm

Do me a favor, will you? I need you to
corroborate my time in the agency. No details, just confirm that’s
what I did. Would you just find a time and mention it to Yang? No
big, but would appreciate.

LUNCH really hadn’t gone as Michael had
envisioned. But what had he expected, really? That she’d feel sorry
for him? No, she just thought he was nuts. Or worse, a sleazy
liar.

Unfortunately, Leah could be stubborn at
times and refuse to listen to reason . . . but did she really have
to tell her pals?

It wasn’t long before everyone in boot camp
was making cracks about James Bond, Double-Oh-Seven, and for some
real laughs, Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery.

If that wasn’t bad enough, some of the
production office guys had heard that some of the soccer moms were
hot and had started hanging around boot camp. When they started
giving him shit—asking if he’d found Dr. Evil, if that was Mini-Me
in his pants—Michael had had enough. Every time he walked by Miss
Kleinschmidt, she was laughing with about a dozen of her closest
friends.

It was time to trot out his corroborator,
whether Jack wanted to be trotted out or not.

“Hey, you know it’s a rule that we don’t get
involved with any of your women problems,” Jack cheerfully rebuffed
him the next morning when Michael demanded his help.

“Yeah, but it’s different this time.”

“Why?”

“Whaddaya mean, why? Because it is. Because
it’s the truth, and because she is making a laughingstock of me all
over boot camp.”

“I know,” Jack said with a grin. “It’s
hilarious. Cooper thinks we’ve finally got a chance with some of
the girls since you’ve been laughed out of commission.”

“Look, I don’t care about the rest of them,
but I have my reasons for wanting Leah to know the truth. I just
think she might believe me if she hears it from someone else.”

“Man, I don’t know,” Jack said with a
playful wince. “That’s really crossing over to the dark side of a
soap opera. I’d need a little something more than just you wanting
a favor.”

Michael sighed, pulled out his Blackberry.
“Okay, Jacko,” he said, and punched a couple of buttons. “Lindsey,
the production assistant, right?”

“Right,” Jack said with a grin.

Michael held up his Blackberry. “You tell
Leah that what I told her is the truth, and I hit send, and
Lindsey’s number will be in your e-mail box before you can take
your Blackberry out of your pocket.”

Jack glanced across the dirt lot where the
women were running an obstacle course. Leah was sitting in one of a
dozen captain’s chairs, talking with great animation. He glanced at
Michael from the corner of his eye. “Let me see the number
again.”

Michael held up the Blackberry where
Lindsey’s name and number were clearly displayed. Jack squinted at
it, rubbed his nape, and looked across at Leah and her friends
again. “Great. Send me to do your groveling. Dammit, Raney, why
can’t you just be a normal guy?” he complained.

But he’d started walking in that
direction.

Michael hit send and went back to the office
to do some work.

When he returned to the obstacle course a
little later, several of the production office guys had taken up
the captain’s chairs, and Nicole Redding was right in the middle of
them. Why, Michael could not fathom. There was no reason she should
be here at this stage of the game, and didn’t big major stars have
better things to do with their time than sit around and watch boot
camp for the minor actors?

But there she was, in the director’s chair,
naturally, beneath the large awning that had been erected to
protect the fair skin of those with huge egos. Nicole’s tiny legs
were crossed daintily, her red hair hanging in soft layers around
her face, as if a stylist had just arranged it. She was accompanied
by a couple of Starlets who had already glommed onto her. They were
all having a grand time laughing it up with the production
boys.

“Michael!” Nicole called out the moment she
saw him, waving him over.

Damn damn damn
. . . Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and
said, “Hey, Nicki.”

“Well look who’s here,” she said, checking
him out with a smile of amusement. “The spy who shags me, and I
didn’t even know he was an international man of mystery.” Her
little Starlet crew squealed with laughter.

Smooth. She’d just given the impression that
they were still together. There was a reason she was considered one
of the world’s most successful actresses. “I wouldn’t be very
mysterious if you knew, would I?” he drawled.

“Oh Michael, you are so funny,” she said,
her smile brightening. “Why don’t you sit down?” she asked, looking
at the chair next to her that was inhabited by a Starlet, who
instantly popped up. “We haven’t had a chance to talk today.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, wincing
sorrowfully. “But I’ve got some work that can’t wait. I’ll catch up
with you later, okay?” And before Queen Nicole on her throne could
say a word, he walked on.

In hindsight, he had to admit that dating
Nicole, however briefly, was not one of his better moves.

A couple of hours later, he found Jack on
the edge of the field, going over the obstacles with his group
again. When he sent the girls out to run the course, Jack and
Michael stood side by side, their arms crossed over their chests,
watching five women hop daintily and very slowly through a roped
hopscotch course.

Jack groaned when one of them tripped but
then righted herself before she hit the ground. “This is never
going to work. They run like girls. We are never going to get them
to look like they know what they’re doing out there. This is going
to be the biggest disaster in the history of T.A., man. I feel it
in my bones.”

“They’re fine. So . . . did you do it?”

Jack glanced at Michael, then at the women
again. “Just who is Leah to you, anyway?”

“Just someone I used to know. Why?”

“Because when I told her
you really were an ex-operative, she said, ‘
Really
?’ like she was surprised by
it. And I said, yeah, that you really were, and that I knew you
then, because I had done some flying for the Air Force, and that
we’d worked together.”

“Great. So now she believes me.”

“Not so fast. She asked if we’d been on any
dangerous missions, and I said some of them were dangerous. And
then she asked me what you did, exactly, and I said I didn’t really
know that much, as we were from different agencies, and it was all
covert operations, so strictly on a need-to-know basis. Then she
asked where you were stationed, and again, I said I didn’t really
know, that you’d sort of show up when it was time to go, and—you
get the picture. There were just a lot of questions. Women ask a
lot of questions in general. I dated a woman once, and it was six
months of one long question. Where are you going, who were you
with, when will I see you—”

“So what happened?” Michael asked, cutting
Jack off before he could catalogue all his dating woes.