Finding Mr. Right Now (32 page)

Because Glenn demanded it, she tried to call Paul several times, but all she got was his voice mail. Since Glenn and Sid were both standing at her elbow for most of the calls, she couldn’t say what she really wanted to say, which was something like
Help!

“Paul, this is Monica McKellar, from Fairstein,” she said stiffly. “We need to know exactly when you’ll be back here in Colorado. There are schedules to set up. Please call me as soon as you get this message.”

You jerk, you bastard, you…writer!

Eventually, they scrapped the idea of bringing in the bachelors’ parents, an episode that had always been one of the most popular on
Finding Miss Right
since the parents invariably hated their children’s choices. Instead, she made reservations for Ronnie’s parents to fly in whenever the airways opened up again to meet with whichever bachelors were the finalists.

Sid had been dispatched to find Billy Joe in case it turned out they needed him. He’d finally been located in the most disreputable bar in town, with a day’s worth of beard and a developing black eye. At least Sid had been the one charged with sobering him up and explaining that he was being held in reserve as an alternate in case Paul didn’t make it back in time.

Ronnie hadn’t been happy, but then Ronnie hadn’t been happy about anything for most of the day, not that she was alone in that reaction. “I already cut Billy Joe,” she grumbled. “I don’t want him here. I want Paul.”

Don’t we all?
“Paul’s not here,” Monica explained as a real beauty of a headache throbbed at her temples. “We don’t know when he’ll be back. We’re not even sure
if
he’ll be back. We may have to go ahead with Billy Joe after all if we can’t find him.” Assuming, of course, Billy Joe could be sobered up and cleaned up enough to appear on camera.

Ronnie’s lower lip extended mutinously. “I’m tired. I need a day off. Tell Mr. Donovan I’m going shopping. And Fairstein had better be ready to pay.”

Monica sighed. Yet another cheery message to pass on to Glenn.

As it turned out, however, Glenn had already decided to close down production for two days while Fairstein checked with legal, Ronnie’s parents checked with the airline, and Sid checked with the weather service.

“Get out of my sight,” Glenn told her morosely. “Go somewhere and think. See if you can figure a way out of this disaster. Did I mention your future with Fairstein’s on the line here?”

“Yes sir, I think you did,” she mumbled.
Only about two dozen times. But who’s counting?

Her future with Fairstein being on the line raised a whole set of interesting questions, of course. Did she have a future with Fairstein? Did she
want
a future with Fairstein? For a while she’d thought about leaving, but that was when she’d had Paul at her elbow, telling her she was too good for them.
See how well that turned out?

She headed back to her room, wondering where she could go to hide for a couple of days.

There was really only one answer.

She packed her things and headed toward the SUV. She was fairly certain she’d come back to Elkhorn Run after the weekend, but it never hurt to take everything along just in case she was barred from her room. Fifteen minutes later, she was driving up Main Street in Salt Box.

The Lincoln Town Car was still parked in front of the Praeger House in the same spot it had been in the last time she’d seen it. Clark Denham was rubbing a cloth across the hood. He glanced up and broke into a grin as she pulled the SUV into the nearest parking spot.

“Hey, Monica, all by yourself this time?”

Oh yes, very definitely all by myself.
“I’ve got a couple of days off. Any chance you guys have a room?”

He shrugged. “Probably. We had a couple of cancellations yesterday. Go talk to Colleen.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that.” She managed a half-hearted smile.

Denham leaned against the Lincoln. “Anything wrong?”

“Not exactly. Just tired,” she lied. “Maybe I’ll see you later at the Blarney Stone.”

“Absolutely. I’ll buy you a beer.” But he still watched her doubtfully as she walked up the stairs to the lobby.

Fortunately, Colleen managed to find her a room. Even more fortunately, it wasn’t the one she’d shared with Ronnie the last time she’d stayed at the Praeger House. Instead she was tucked away in a tiny garret in one of the gables, with a single window looking out at the valley. She sank down on the window seat and stared at the peaks.

She had a full array of issues she could brood about—Fairstein, Ronnie, Paul. Mostly, of course, Paul.

She really wanted to hold everything against him—to be furious that he’d run out on her and left her to cope with this disaster on her own. But if she’d had a deal pending with El Capitan Productions, she’d probably have run away too.

Of course, in that case she might have taken him with her. Which, of course, was ridiculous. Even if he’d asked her to come with him, she couldn’t have gone.
Even if he’d asked…which he didn’t.

The view was spectacular. It should have raised her spirits, made her own problems seem insignificant. It didn’t. Coming back to the Praeger House had obviously not been the great idea she’d thought it was at first.

Around six, she trudged over to the Blarney Stone. One of the jukeboxes was blaring the Dropkick Murphys, which was about as close to Celtic music as she’d ever heard in the place. Ted Saltzman, the owner, was rubbing down the bar as she walked in. He glanced her way, then grinned. “Hey, Monica, how are things in TV land?”

She managed a slightly flat smile. “Oh, you know, one crisis after another. I had some time off, so I thought I’d come down here for a couple of days.”

“Good. Always glad to have you.” Ted glanced around the room. Most of the tables were already full, with the usual selection of kayakers, hikers and faintly bewildered tourists. He gestured toward the side. “There’s a spot over there. At Dick’s table.”

Dick. Great.
She tried to think of an excuse for not joining Dick the dick and the other people at his table, but nothing occurred to her, particularly when the man himself directed an icy blue gaze in her direction that looked like a clear challenge. She slid into a chair at the side, wishing she’d brought along her cloak of invisibility.

“Ah, a visitor from the dream factory. How’s the mating game coming along?” Dick’s lips slid into a singularly nasty smile.

Well, crap.

“Oh shut up, you old fart,” Nona Monteith said easily. “She’s a nice girl and you’re not.” She gave him a quick grin that seemed to make his smile transform into something closer to genuine.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “I’m definitely not a girl, Nona. Glad you noticed.”

“You’re also not nice. And believe me, I noticed that about the same time I noticed you had a dipstick.” Nona took a deep swallow from her beer stein.

Dick looked like he was readying his next nasty crack. Monica decided a change of subject was in order.

“How’s Al?” she said quickly.

“Fine. Busy. Boring. Tell us about the TV show.” Nona gave her a much warmer smile than she’d given Dick.

Ted dropped a beer in front of her, then leaned next to Nona’s chair for a moment, listening.

Monica took a grateful sip. “Oh, you know, ups and downs. We’ve had some setbacks, but things are pretty much okay.”

“Almost trampled your star, of course. Just a minor problem, I assume.” Dick’s smile was still nasty.

“That was one of the setbacks,” Monica admitted. “But she’s okay. Fortunately. She dislocated her finger and sprained her wrist, but everything healed up.”

Nona snorted. “Hell, I’ve done worse than that in a rodeo. Looked like she just forgot to let go of that rope. No big deal.”

“Yeah, Nona, but you’re local. Ronnie’s from…wherever the hell she’s from.” Ted shrugged.

“Florida,” Monica supplied.

“So?” Nona shrugged. “They got rodeos in Florida. Same stuff probably happens there. I still say it wasn’t anything to get upset about.”

“She’s not upset.” Monica took another swallow of her beer. “Well, she is upset, but more about the tabloids and the pictures than the fall.”

“Damn tabloids,” Dick muttered. “Scourge of the Western World.”

“I read ’em,” Nona said. “Well, not all of ’em. That
Celebrity News
thing that had all those pictures of the rodeo, that one’s nasty. I don’t read it usually.”

Ted headed back toward the bar. “You want anything else, let me know,” he called over his shoulder.

“I could use a hamburger,” Dick said in a sharp voice.

Ted shrugged, not bothering to turn back.

“Goddamn hippie,” Dick muttered, swallowing half his remaining beer.

“He’s just trying to teach you some manners,” Nona said calmly. “You start acting decent, and he’ll start making burgers for you again.”

“They don’t make burgers anymore?” Monica felt like sighing. The cherry on the crap sundae of her day. No burgers.

“He makes burgers,” Nona explained. “He just won’t make ’em for Dick. Not until he stops growling at customers.”

“Goddamn tourists,” Dick muttered again.

Nona shrugged. “For a lot of us, tourists pay the rent.”

“Not my rent.”

“Not my problem, you old fart.” She smiled at him, her eyes suddenly warm.

Interesting.
So Dick the dick had at least one fan.

Ted appeared at Monica’s shoulder again, carrying a platter of nachos with everything. Her mouth immediately began to water.

“They smell terrific, but I didn’t order these,” she said against her better judgment.

“I know. I thought you looked like you could use them. Do you want me to take them back?” He grinned down at her.

“No, definitely not. Thank you.” She picked up a chip that was fully laden with refried beans, salsa, guacamole, and cheddar. “Oh most decidedly not,” she muttered through her first bite.

“Going to share?” Dick’s icy eyes narrowed to slits.

Monica shrugged. “That depends. Are you going to lay off me and my job while you eat?”

He shrugged. “My mouth will be otherwise occupied, so yeah.”

“What about after you finish?” She lifted another fully loaded chip in the direction of her mouth.

Dick grimaced. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“These are really terrific nachos. And way too many for me to eat on my own. Gosh, what a shame nobody else wants any.” She gave him a dewy smile.

Across the table, Nona snickered.

Dick grimaced again. “Okay, okay. No more shots for the rest of the night. Now, can I have some nachos?”

Monica pushed the platter into the center of the table. “Knock yourself out.”

Dick dug out a chip that was as fully loaded as her own. “Looks like you’re developing some definite survival skills there, kid.”

She shrugged. “I’ve always had survival skills. I’m just developing the desire to use them.”

He grinned as he bit down on the chip. “Good for you, toots. First step up the ladder. Way I heard it, that rodeo debacle wasn’t your idea. That right?”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t my idea, but it was my responsibility. I should have checked it out more thoroughly earlier in the day. So it’s still something you can blame me for.”

“Not while I’m eating.” Dick ran a chip through the melted cheese at the side of the platter and ignored her as long as the nachos lasted.

Ted kept them well supplied for the rest of the evening with beer and bar food. He never gave Dick anything. Everything edible came through Monica and Nona. Monica wasn’t sure if that was intended to keep Dick in line, but it did cut down on his talking. He spent most of his time either chewing or brooding.

Nona took off around nine, muttering about opening the garage at eight the next day. “Behave yourself,” she said to Dick. “So far, you’ve been decent to everybody. Show me you can actually be a stand-up guy for an entire evening.” She turned to Monica. “If he acts up, belt him one. He’s gotten away with too much in his life.”

“Yes ma’am,” she replied. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

An hour or so later, when she’d had more beer and bar food than was good for her, Monica stretched and leaned back in her chair. She was beginning to feel marginally human.

Dick turned toward her. “Can I ask you a question related to your profession?”

“Depends. Is it nasty?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think so, no.”

“Okay, fire away.” She dragged a pita chip through the remains of the spinach artichoke dip that was Ted’s latest contribution.

“Is working for this company what you really want to do?”

She paused, tensing. Normally, she’d consider that a shot. Or at least a prelude to one. Now…maybe not. She shrugged. “I used to think it was, but probably not. I’ve been sort of mulling it over the last couple of days. I think it’s probably time for me to look for something else.”