Turning It on (Red Hot Russians) (21 page)

“I know, but used in the right way, it becomes ironic. Foreboding. Imagine it with the show. Don’t you think there’s something a little unsettling about it?”

He paused to listen and his creative mind latched on to the line about waking up to a sunny day. What if that sunny day never came? Suddenly a vision sprang to life. The closing shot of the series pilot.

Dr. Pamela Chandler, exhausted after hours of caring for the sick and dying, steps outside the hospital door and peers into the stormy darkness. Rain pours down from the night sky, falling like tears on her beautiful face. She is trapped. She cannot go home tonight. Maybe not ever. Even if she could leave, she has no one to go home to. She gazes up, searching for an answer, comfort, something. But there is nothing—only rain. Confused and frightened, she does the only thing she can. She turns and walks back into the hospital, where chaos reigns.

Screen black. Music rises. Credits roll.

Goose bumps rose on Eric’s arms. He still hadn’t solved all the problems of
Last Fling
, but at the moment, it didn’t matter. “You’re right, it’s perfect.”

His muse smiled. “So happy I could help.” She looked away, slowly rotating her glass between her fingers. “You haven’t cast it yet?”

“It’s not even green-lit yet.”

“Good.” She shook her head. “Not that part, I mean. Oh, Eric...the role of Pamela. You don’t have anyone in mind for her?”

He’d had someone in mind for the role ever since Dr. Pamela Chandler came to life in his mind. Her courage, nobility and beauty were embodied by the woman at his side. A real Hollywood player would be cool, but who was he kidding? Eric was a fanboy whose wildest dream might be about to come true, provided he could turn around
Last Fling
. He swallowed. “Why do ask?”

“Because I want the part. Eric, being here on set reminded me of how much I still love it and reading that script...that’s the kind of role I wanted. Before I came on the show, I talked to Brenda about taking over the Homestretch once the debt is retired. With the money from
Last Fling
, I can pay it off. I thought I was done with Hollywood, but the chance to be part of something like this has changed my mind.”

If the idea of Alison as a last fling hadn’t set well before, it definitely didn’t now that she had a chance to establish herself as something more than a cast member on a trashy reality show. He had to satisfy Cody and the Xposé Network and not destroy Alison’s future in the process. One male stripper was a sacrifice Eric could live with. He laced his fingers through hers and everything was right with the world. “I think you’re the perfect Pamela.”

Chapter Nineteen

With Crusher gone, Team Hannah faced a distinct disadvantage in the challenge Cody announced with great fanfare at the end of week seven’s episode.

“Next week, on a special two-hour live episode, our contestants unveil their hidden talents.”

A chorus of “ooohs” rose from the studio audience, which consisted of the production and office staff, plus off duty hotel employees.

Cody chuckled. “What dirty minds you all have. I don’t mean
those
talents. I’m talking...showbiz!” He demonstrated a dance that involved swiveling and thrusting his pelvis. “Next Monday night, it’s a live broadcast of the
Last Fling Talent Extravaganza
!”

The studio audience cheered loudly.

“Whether it’s song, dance, or something unique...” Cody winked lasciviously. “It’s a night of entertainment you won’t want to miss! Personally, I’m looking forward to watching Vlad the Bad do whatever it is that he does.”

The comment was greeted with more howls and stomping feet from the audience, but Vlad only crossed his arms and glowered into the camera hovering beside him. Hannah felt a twinge of sadness. She had seen him look that way far too often lately.

“The network’s standards board is nervous already,” Cody said. Someone shouted from offstage, and the host laughed. “Oh right. The Xposé Network doesn’t
have
standards! So you definitely want to tune in next week for Talent Night—live on
Laaaaast Fliiiiing
!”

The moment the shoot wrapped, Hannah turned to her remaining flings. The ranks looked sparse without Crusher’s hulking presence. Byron and Jeff Scott stood side by side, wearing color-coordinated shirts that made them look like big and little brother. Heathcliff’s shirt matched theirs, but he wore it half-unbuttoned, to best display his manly chest. An impressive sight, she had to admit. But could the man sing? Hannah sure as heck hoped so, because she couldn’t. Dancing stopped being an option after age thirteen. And crazy as it was, she wanted to win this thing. “Jack has an advantage. Senior year he played Billy Bigelow in
Carousel
and made every woman in the audience cry. He can dance, too, and I’m sure little Robynne sings like an angel.”

Jeff Scott rubbed his clean-shaven baby face. “We can’t write off Team Red, either. Chris has Patrice, a pop singer who can actually sing. I’ve seen Alison dance, and she’s pretty good, too. On Tammy’s side, there’s the stripper. I’d assume he can move.”

“Definitely. He was once a top competitive ice dancer,” Hannah said.

Jeff Scott looked over, surprised. “How do you know that?”

“Oh. Um, he mentioned it in one of his interviews,” she offered quickly.

Heathcliff furrowed his brow, confused. “He did?”

“The first night. You’ve probably just forgotten. Anyway, what kind of act are we going to do? I want us to win, or at the very least, beat Jack and his harem.”

“In that case, the solution is obvious,” Byron said. “I’ll perform one of my hits. You have three UK top ten singles to choose from, as well as my later jazz-influenced work. Which shall it be?”

“What are the rest of us supposed to do?” Hannah asked.

“You can be my backup dancers.”

“No, no.” Jeff Scott waved his small hands. “The act has to showcase Hannah. That won’t work if she’s only a backup dancer.”

“
Only
a backup dancer? Please. You underestimate the prestige of performing with Byron Lord.” He gave an exasperated sigh. “And pardon
moi
, but I’m not hearing any better ideas.”

Jeff Scott’s face brightened with a boyish grin. “Show tunes!”

Show tunes?
Hannah, Heathcliff and Byron exchanged glances.

The diminutive funeral director was all but dancing on his toes. “When I was in college, I was in the musical every spring.”

“Mortuary schools have musicals?” This didn’t sound like what they needed to triumph in the
Last Fling Talent Extravaganza
.

He shook his head. “Before mortuary school, I studied business at the University of Wisconsin. All I have to do is remember enough choreography for a five-minute program. Piece of cake. Everybody meet me down in the hot tub, and I’ll tell you the plan.”

Hannah returned to her room and put on her new pink bikini. Each time she wore her new clothes, she felt a little less self-conscious. She looked good, and her only regret was that she hadn’t done this sooner. Anxious to hear Jeff Scott’s idea, she hurried down to Team Blue’s pool patio. A camera crew shouldered their gear as she came through the sliding doors and joined Heathcliff, who was already in the hot tub enjoying a lime-flavored beer.

“I got you one, too.” He reached out a big hand and knocked the bottle into the tub. “Sorry.”

Hannah fished the bottle out of the churning hot water and set it aside. Lime beer and chlorine was not an appealing cocktail. “That’s okay. It’s the thought that counts.”

Heath moved closer. “Have you thought about who your Final Fling is gonna be?”

Hannah had not, though maybe it was time she did. Though Jack had seemed initially taken by Hannah’s new look, he wasn’t any less taken with Robynne. Selection night was fast approaching. Though she hadn’t come on this show intending to have a fling, it looked as if Jack was going to have one. Why not her?

Jeff Scott was cute in a preppy sort of way, but not her type. Byron Lord was well...definitely not her type. Heathcliff, on the other hand, was handsome and dark-haired, with broad shoulders and a powerful chest dusted with an impressive man-pelt. True, he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box, but they weren’t going to be discussing Shakespeare.

The only drawback? He wasn’t Vladimir Shustov.

The ache that had dogged her all week intensified, as her thoughts drifted back to her stupid, impulsive kiss in The Smiling Shark. She had embarrassed him, and embarrassed herself. They couldn’t be together anyway, and she had gotten carried away and done something she shouldn’t have. He was keeping his distance now, and she had only herself to blame. She only wished she didn’t miss him so much.

Though if a night with Vlad would hopelessly complicate her life, the same couldn’t be said for hunky, uncomplicated Heathcliff. A fling with him was only paying Jack back in kind. If he didn’t like it, tough. Coming on
Last Fling
had been his idea to begin with. She gave Heathcliff a flirtatious smile and playfully flicked a drop of water from his shoulder. “I might have.”

Voices and a trill of laughter came from the sliding doors. Jack, Robynne and Gina came outside and stopped short. Hanging on Jack’s arm, Gina glared, as if Hannah and Heathcliff had no right to be there. Jack smiled, all charm, and asked, “You don’t mind if we join you?”

“Gosh, Jack, I kind of do mind,” Hannah replied. Seeing Jack’s eyes widen in surprise only added to the fun. She nestled close to the stuntman. “Heathcliff and I were enjoying a private moment while we wait for the rest of our team. We have important talent show business to discuss.”

Robynne giggled. “We already have our act planned. It’s going to be so good. Jack’s such a wonderful singer.”

“Yes, Robynne. I am aware of that.”

The glass doors slid open as Byron and Jeff Scott came out to the patio. The tall pop star gazed down his nose at the interlopers. “I’m afraid this is a private party for Team Hannah. Buh-bye.” Byron fluttered his thin fingers.

“You can’t banish us from the hot tub,” Jack protested.

Robynne tossed back her hair. “We don’t need this, Jack. Let’s go back to my room.” She linked her arm through Jack’s and led him away, as Gina and the cameraman followed.

Hannah waited for the now-familiar sting of jealousy and was a little surprised when it didn’t come.

Jeff Scott settled into the hot tub. “We’ll be performing the song ‘One’ from
A Chorus Line
. I was in it my senior year. Fantastic show.”

Who was she to argue? She listened as he explained the rest, but even the new confident Hannah was not entirely on board with what he had in mind. “You want to put me front and center in tap shoes and short-shorts, while the three of you dance around me as my chorus boys?”

“Shirtless chorus boys,” Heathcliff added.

“And then you sing,” said Jeff Scott.

“I was getting to that. You see, I don’t sing.”

“‘One’ is an easy song. With a little coaching, you’ll have no problem. Byron can help you.”

“Finally, someone sees the value of having me around.”

“And the choreography is simple and classic. We’ll use the steps on the main stage. For costumes, black tails, top hats and canes.”

“Are you sure about this?” She tried to imagine singing and dancing in a tuxedo jacket and short-shorts on live television. “I don’t want to look like an idiot.”

“You won’t,” Jeff Scott said. “We’ll make you look great. Come on, Hannah, haven’t you always wanted to channel your inner Broadway star?

She never thought she had one, though years ago when Rachel took ballet, Hannah had longingly watched the tap dance classes. Practically everything she had done on
Last Fling
had taken her out of her comfort zone. This was way, way out of her comfort zone, but... Hannah smiled. “What the hell? Let’s put on a show.”

* * *

Jeff Scott leaped into the project with the enthusiasm he usually reserved for discussing funeral arrangements. The next afternoon, they met on the steps at the side of the terrace where she and Vlad had once escaped the rain, and Jeff Scott passed out lengths of bamboo and souvenir caps with Resorte Siete Mares printed on them.

“We can practice with these until our real costumes arrive.” Jeff Scott said, as Byron and Heathcliff awkwardly waved their bamboo canes around. “The three of us perform the first verse, Hannah comes in and we each do a few steps with her individually, and come together for the big finish.”

The dance was charming, with simple tap steps, several turns and even a hat trick. By the end of the first day, Hannah and Byron had it down, but Heathcliff lumbered clumsily. At the end of the second day, Heathcliff showed minimal improvement and by the third day, even Jeff Scott was becoming frustrated.

“I’ve tried everything, but he’s about as graceful as you’d expect a big lug of a stuntman to be,” Jeff Scott said, at that evening’s beach party.

“Big men can be graceful,” Hannah said.

Jeff Scott shook his head. “This one moves like a garbage truck. If he doesn’t get better in the next day or two, we’re screwed.”

It occurred to her that Vlad, with his skating and dance background, might be able to assist, but he was sure to be busy with Tammy’s act. Yet it was so tempting to ask, if only as an excuse to talk to him.

With eliminations coming, Vlad might go home in just a few days. Will seemed to be emerging as the front-runner for Tammy’s last fling, which meant they had less than a week left in Puerto Rico. Before she knew it, she would be back in New York.

Which is exactly what you want. To pick up where things left off, plan your wedding and a future with Jack.

The fact she was starting to question that vision of her life, all because of a ridiculous one-sided crush on a male stripper, was more than a little disturbing. Vlad lived thousands of miles away, amid the hot, sweaty glitz of Miami. Though he said little about his life, he probably had a stripper girlfriend, one for whom being sexy came as naturally as breathing. He was from a different country, a different social world, a different religion. All the things she and Jack had in common, she and Vlad did not.

Hannah had been caught up in the illusion that down here passed for real life. But it wasn’t. It was a TV series no one would remember a year from now. Her relationships with the people on it wouldn’t last beyond their shared fifteen minutes of fame. Once she was away from this place and back to her real life, her feelings for Jack would return, and her feelings for Vlad would fade.

How strange that as much as she had dreaded coming on the show, she dreaded its ending even more.

The next morning, the cast headed to the beach for surfing lessons. Hannah lagged at the back of the group, in no hurry to plunge into the chilly water. As she walked, she realized that Vlad was beside her.

“I heard you’re having trouble with your act.”

Hannah’s guard rose. Were they already a cast laughingstock? “Who told you that?”

“Alison. Jeff Scott told her, but I don’t think anyone else knows.”

She trusted his source, so she decided to trust him. “Heathcliff is having trouble with the dance steps. He’s a big guy, and not so graceful.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t get better. Chris is a big guy and once I showed him what to do, he was fine.”

“You’re helping Chris?” She paused, the question she wanted to ask but couldn’t hanging in the air.

Vlad twisted his mouth and looked annoyed. “I’m going to end up as dance coach for the whole damn show. Almost the whole show. I draw the line at helping Jack.”

“But you’ll help us?’

His expression softened into a smile. “Sure, Hannah, I’ll help you.”

She ached to embrace him, but didn’t. “I can’t tell you how much this means. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Let me give that some thought.” He grinned and winked, then went to catch up with the others.

That afternoon, Vlad watched as they performed the routine. Heath dropped his cane twice. “You’re gonna help me learn this? I ain’t much of a dancer,” he asked, looking skeptical.

“Maybe not, but I’m an excellent teacher,” Vlad said. “For Hannah, we’ll get this right.”

After learning the dance from Jeff Scott, Vlad took Heathcliff aside and counted through the steps slowly. “Step-kick, step-kick, hat off, side step, hat on, twirl the cane.”

Heathcliff tried, but dropped it each time. Byron rolled his eyes. “He’s never going to get this. We should forget about the cane twirl.”

“But that will ruin the choreography,” said Jeff Scott.

“He’s going to get it,” Vlad said, over his shoulder, then turned back to Heathcliff, who was trying once more to twirl the cane. “Your fingers are too large to do it like they do. Why don’t you try it this way?” Vlad rolled the cane over the back of his hand and turned his wrist quickly to catch it in his fist. “Think you can do that?”