Turning It on (Red Hot Russians) (16 page)

There was a long pause, and then he nodded. “Of course I can. In our situations, it’s not so surprising you would assume the worst of me.”

The tension in her shoulders loosened and she offered an apologetic smile. “Everything that’s happened with Jack has left me very upset, and I ended up taking it out on you.”

Then he came to her side. “Hannah, you deserve so much better than bad treatment from Jack-ass. But he has been in your life a long time, and you say that what I see is not the way he really is. I can only take your word.”

“No really, if you got to know him—”

“I don’t want to. I’ll say no more, only that he is a lucky guy. But you love him, and I will respect that.”

“Then we’re still friends?”

He touched her arm. “Yes, Hannah. We’re still friends.”

They walked the rest of the way with less distance between them. At the visitors’ center, they found the cast and camera crews laughing and drinking cold cans of the official sponsor’s beer. Music was playing, and the entire scene had a party atmosphere. As they approached, Byron charged over. “Where were you?”

Hannah shrugged innocently. “We hiked down to see the falls. You didn’t want to go.”

He groaned. “Well, thanks to you, Team Red won the spa day.”

Jack hurried over, a look of concern on his face. “God, there you are.”

He was worried about me!
Hannah’s spirits soared. As hard as it was, putting distance between herself and Vlad had been the right thing to do. “It’s okay, Jack, we just went down to see the second waterfall, that’s all.”

“You didn’t happen to pass Robynne on the way, did you?”

A deluge of emotions, all bad, swamped Hannah. “No. Why?”

“She and Crusher aren’t back yet, and they should be.” Jack frowned and paced, glancing anxiously at the trail out of the jungle. “We need to go look for them.”

Cristal wandered over. “Relax. I’m sure they’re fine. Hey, Hannah, didn’t Crusher say something about a backcountry hike to the summit? Looked to me like Robynne was totally into him, don’t you think?”

The question startled her and she released a nervous laugh. “Oh yeah, right. Definitely, totally into him. I mean really, what woman could resist Crusher? And come to think of it, he did mention backcountry hiking. On the bus. When I talked to him.” Except she hadn’t said a word to Crusher all day, and even she could hear the false note in her words. A line from a true crime book she had once edited sprang to mind.
The guilty always talk too much.

Jack held her gaze a moment too long. Slowly, his mouth twisted into a sneer, and Hannah’s insides knotted.
Busted!

Suddenly a high-pitched scream pierced the air, and Robynne charged out of the jungle. She ran across the clearing, bare legs dirty and scratched, tears streaming down her face. She hurled herself into Jack’s arms, sobbing. “Hold me, Jack, just hold me. I’m so-so-scared!”

Her fiancé looked stunned. “Sweetheart, what happened?”

At the edge of the clearing came the sound of rustling and Crusher stepped out. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.” He looked to the right and left, becoming aware of everyone’s curious stares. “What?”

Chapter Fourteen

During the wee hours of Monday morning, Resorte Siete Mares was mostly still, but the basement offices of Renegade Productions hummed with energy. Producing a hit TV show left little time for sleep. In a dark conference room, Eric and Cody watched the just-finished promos for tonight’s episode. Roller Derby Gina’s face filled the big screen. “Hannah doesn’t have a prayer of keeping Jack. His face said it all. When Robynne was in danger, there wasn’t anything else he cared about.”

Minor key reggaeton played over footage of El Yunque, followed by shots of Robynne running into Jack’s arms. Then Crusher’s scowling face, and the fight that ensued. The arrival of the local police. Next came the announcer’s voice. “Tonight, on an explosive new episode of Last Fling—”

Cody paused the video and turned to Eric. He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. “I am a fucking genius.”

Eric looked over. “You’re an asshole.”

His executive producer laughed. “Best compliment you’ve paid me yet. Though I can’t take credit for everything. Robynne was the one who implied Crusher was an obsessed psycho stalker. What a brilliant twist. Now she’s more famous than ever, and Jack is the white knight that rode to the rescue of America’s Sweetheart.”

On the table between them was the upcoming issue of
Yes!
magazine, which would hit supermarkets across America bright and early Tuesday morning. Robynne Lovejoy’s wholesome face smiled from the cover. In the corner was a shadowy inset of the now-departed Crusher. Splashed across in red letters—all caps, no less—was a banner headline guaranteed to grab the attention of shoppers everywhere. I Feared For My Life!

Eric crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Do you really think that’s fair?”

Cody offered the devious cackle that Eric had started to hear in his nightmares. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what America thinks! In the court of public opinion, Le Crush has been tried, convicted and found guilty. As guardians of the wholesome values we all hold dear, it’s the duty of the Xposé Network to hand down the appropriate sentence. Banishment!” The ex-figure skater put his hand to his forehead in a dramatic gesture.

“Isn’t this supposed to have at least some resemblance to real life? You know damn well he wasn’t stalking that girl. The network knows it, too. We could be sued for breach of contract.”

Cody snorted. “Crusher’s contract gave us the right to use him as we see fit. That includes the right to release him as we see fit. Crush got his money and if I’m not mistaken, the alleged...incident has cemented his image as the most dangerous hombre in pro wrestling. I expect a thank-you note any day.”

From Crusher maybe, but not from Hannah. Eric flipped through the magazine. Splashed all over the pages were unflattering photos of her looking miserable. Reader polls breathlessly predicted a Jack/Robynne love match. He had promised Hannah that going on
Last Fling
would be fun. He had promised not to embarrass her. Instead, he had driven a wedge between her and Jack and crowned her rival as America’s Sweetheart. Tonight, thanks to a neat little sound editing trick, it was going to get even worse. He looked over at deWylde. “Doesn’t any of this bother you?”

“Bother? This show is a huge success! The suits are wetting their pants over the ratings, and can’t wait to see what Renegade Productions has next. Hell-ooo.”

Eric should feel happy. This was what he had been working toward since he arrived in LA two days after college graduation, armed with business cards and a million ideas. Now the big boys were ready to give his proposal for
St. Nowhere
serious attention. “I guess that’s a good thing.”

“You
guess?
Jesus Christ. Some people wouldn’t know success if it bit them in the ass.” Cody shook his head and returned to watching the promo. The spot would hit the East Coast airwaves in just a few hours, then be in heavy rotation throughout the day, building excitement for tonight’s episode. Not only did it contain the lurid tale of Crusher’s alleged obsession with Robynne, but also hidden camera footage of an ugly confrontation between Jack and Hannah.

Once Jack had realized that Hannah had at least something to do with Crusher and Robynne getting lost in the rain forest, he had confronted her, brimming with self-righteous anger and damning accusations. For an uncomfortably long time, Hannah simply took it. She would have been better off saying nothing at all. Instead, she’d finally shouted back, “I never asked him to lay a finger on Robynne! And given what I know about Crusher, I think she’s lying through her teeth!” The sound editors had removed Hannah’s “given what I know about Crusher” comment, leaving only her accusation of Robynne faking her attack. At that moment, the scene shifted to Jack, who sneered in disgust. “That’s right, Hannah. Blame the victim.”

Twenty-four hours from now, the girl who had saved him from sitting alone at lunch in seventh grade would be the most hated woman in America.

Finally, Cody stopped the video. “You’re really stealing my joy, you know that? Take my advice, story-boy. Get out of here. Go find a sweet young thing who’ll suck your cock for a walk-on in your next project. You’re a player now! Act like it.” He pressed Play.

Eric passed through the windowless production offices he’d hardly left since midafternoon yesterday. Cynthia Bishop’s skill in the director’s chair meant Eric was free to spend more time down in the dungeon, amid the pasty-skinned frankenbite experts who transformed mundane footage into the high drama of good TV. At the elevator, a security guard tipped back in his chair as he read this week’s
Celebrity Insider,
which also had Robynne on the cover. He grinned and saluted Eric with his magazine.

Eric only wanted some fresh air.

Upstairs, he crossed the lobby, which was empty except for the cleaning crew. The wall clock behind the vacant check-in desk showed that it was approaching five thirty. The little bar in the left corner of the lobby, which the production staff had claimed as their own, was closed. The coffee shop on the opposite side was about to open. The smell of fresh brew only turned Eric’s stomach. During his long imprisonment underground, he’d subsisted on craft service sandwiches and copious amounts of stale coffee. No wonder he felt like shit. He ought to go up to his room and catch a few hours of sleep, but instead found himself staring through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the hotel.

Captivated, he gazed out past the terrace and beyond the gardens to the white sand, the gently rolling sea and the vast sky that was pink and blue in the sunrise. He stepped out onto the terrace and took a big cleansing gulp of fresh air. He hadn’t seen a sunrise this beautiful or serene since the last time he’d been to his grandparents’ farm in West Virginia.

As a kid, he had gone there every summer, and for two weeks enjoyed the peace that eluded him in success-driven suburbia. In West Virginia, it hadn’t mattered if he preferred to read than catch a football. At night, he could walk into the yard behind the farmhouse and stare up at a night sky splashed with stars. Maybe the night sky here looked that way, too, but down in the editing bay, he had no way to know.

The gentle roll of the incoming tide beckoned him. There was time for a short walk, before he went up to bed. He headed down to the water’s edge, and as he walked, his thoughts returned to Hannah, Jack and the unsettling conversation last November that had led to all of this.

It was right after the Xposé Network picked up
Last Fling
, and he had flown to New York to meet with Jack, who he’d planned to hire as his lawyer. Afterward, he and Jack had gone to dinner, then drinking in Greenwich Village. They drank to Eric’s success as an up-and-coming producer, and Jack’s as a rising legal eagle who was about to become engaged.

That was when things turned strange.

Jack was drinking heavily, and his resentment and doubt rose to the surface. He talked more about his family’s demands than his love for Hannah. His parents adored her, and she adored Jack. Always had. The relationship was the one area of Jack’s life where he held all the cards. Hannah would do the emotional heavy lifting. All Jack had to do was stay faithful.

“Can you do that?” Eric had asked.

“Yeah, sure.” Jack drained his glass and signaled for another. “I think so.”

The conversation stuck with Eric, turning in his writer’s mind, and two months later, when they needed a couple for
Last Fling
, he thought back to that night in the White Horse. The situation was ripe with dramatic conflict—the perfect recipe for good TV. The only thing he had forgotten was Hannah.

But if he showed mercy now, his career was dead in the water. He could forget
St. Nowhere
, and beautiful Dr. Chandler. His dreams of awards, and critical acclaim. He’d crash and burn on an Xposé Network reality show, and be back in his old Port Pleasant bedroom, thinking about what could have been. Hannah would survive
Last Fling
, and if Jack wasn’t in love with her, wasn’t it better she found out now? Eric wasn’t destroying her relationship on national television; he was saving her from marrying the wrong man.

So why didn’t he feel better about it?

He paused to gaze out at the water and listen to the tide roll in. He had heard the surfing in Puerto Rico was as good as in LA. Not that he’d ever been surfing. Back when he was a sickly asthmatic kid with overly protective parents, he had dreamed of it. Yet in the four years he had lived in LA, he hadn’t tried it once. At the edge of the water, he removed his loafers and socks, and rolled up his pants. Cool, wet sand oozed between his toes. Far out on the ocean, he spotted a white cruise ship. He stood transfixed, watching it move across the horizon.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?”

From the corner of his eye, he spied a small figure walking down the beach. Eric caught his breath as Alison walked up, her soft blond hair blowing around her face. She wore the rimless glasses she had worn in the diner, and her simple light blue T-shirt fit every curve. She was barefoot, and had her hands in the pockets of her baggy cotton pants. “When I moved to Chicago, the ocean was one of the few things I missed. Lake Michigan is pretty, but not the same.”

“What brings you here so early?” Eric asked.

“I come here every morning to pray. Or ‘meditate.’ That seems to scare people less. Whatever you call it, this is a good place for it. You?”

He nodded. “I like the beach, too. But in LA, I never have time to go.”

“Too busy looking for the perfect sentence to edit out of context?”

Eric’s face reddened as he thought back to the double date episode. Alison had not fared well that night either. “I hated doing that.”

His dream girl smiled sadly. “It’s okay, Eric. This is reality TV. I had a good idea what I was signing on for. Though I’m not so sure about Vlad. Or your little friend from high school.”

Eric sighed and shook his head. “Did you ever do something you weren’t proud of?”

Alison laughed. “Maybe once or twice.”

In light of her history, he felt ridiculous having asked. “What do you do about it?”

“What does anyone do? Say you’re sorry, do your best to make it right and move on.” She crouched and touched the sand, then sat in a dry place, stretching out her legs and delicate feet.

Eric sat down beside her. “It’s this business. Every damn day, I’m forced to make compromises I never wanted to make, all so the network will even
consider
my series.”

Alison wiggled her scarlet-tipped toes. “Your TV ambitions don’t begin and end with
Last Fling
?”

Eric felt a smile crease his face, and as they watched the sunrise and the boat cross the horizon he told her about
St. Nowhere.
“See, all the viewer knows is that it’s raining. The light changes some, but the rain never stops. Now, Dr. Chandler, she’s the widow still grieving the loss of her husband and child. She’s determined to find out what’s going on. The patients who come in don’t remember much, and what they do remember, they’re afraid to talk about. The patients who try to leave can’t find their way past the parking lot. Are they dead or alive? In heaven or hell? Another dimension?”

“Which is it?” she asked, eagerly.

He winked, loving the interest she showed in his story. Could the lonely boy typing on a hand-me-down Mac in his suburban bedroom, with her poster hanging above the desk, ever have imagined this? If lightning struck him dead this moment, Eric would go out a happy man. “You’ll have to read and decide for yourself.”

Her smile grew wider. “I’d love to.”