Turning It on (Red Hot Russians) (7 page)

The bellhop gently touched her arm. “Friend of yours?”

Reeling from a blow she never saw coming Hannah shook her head. “Not exactly.”

Jack was glassy-eyed but smiling as Robynne clung to his neck. “Robynne...so good to see you. Did you have a nice flight down? Is your room okay?”

“Oh, it’s wonderful! Just wonderful! I couldn’t have imagined anything more wonderful, except now...you’re here!” She bounced up and down on her tiny stilettos and squealed like a ten-year-old with a new puppy.

“Robynne,” Hannah said, flatly. “What a surprise.”

She stepped back and turned. “Hello to you, too, Hannah.” Her pink mouth slackened into a pout. “Didn’t Jack tell you I was coming?”

“No. He didn’t.”

Jack ran his fingers through his hair and barked a nervous laugh.

“But,” Robynne’s little girl voice lifted in confusion. “You invited me.”

Hannah blinked and her heart pounded in her chest. The fling invitees were supposed to have been jokes, not people they knew! Not people with whom they might actually want to have a last fling. “You...
invited
her?”

They stood frozen in an awful tableau. Jack breathed quickly through his nose and licked his lips. Then he took a step backward and tilted his chin defiantly. “Yes. I invited her.”

Hannah’s face flushed, and she felt dizzy. Her chest rose and fell. Did this mean Jack wanted a last fling with Robynne? Did she want Jack? Had they been having an affair all along and Hannah was only finding out now, as they were about to be on TV? Her head spinning from the awful possibilities, she looked over and realized that the camera crew was filming. “Could you kindly not film right now? We’re having a personal conversation.”

The cameraman chuckled. “Did you forget where you are? We roll on everything. Especially ‘personal conversations.’”

“No, please. Just give us moment of privacy.” Her voice trembled with shock and anger. “Please.”

The hunky bellhop took a step toward the cameraman, and held up his hand to block the lens. “Do you not hear well? The lady asked for privacy.”

The cameraman jerked his lens sideways. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing? Get out of the way.”

Jack moved in between them and gave the bellhop’s hand a shove. “Look, asshole. This isn’t any of your business.”

“Hannah! Jack!” Seemingly out of nowhere Eric appeared and brushed air kisses onto Hannah’s cheeks. “So glad you made it. Cynthia said you two were about to head upstairs. Jack, why don’t you let Robynne show you around while I get Hannah settled?” He turned to the bellhop. “I’m sure you have some place to go, too. Come along, Hannah Banana. We’ve given you the best room in the whole place.” Eric slung an arm across her shoulders and steered her away.

When they reached the elevator and were far from the cameras Hannah turned on Eric. “What is she doing here? Jack said he invited her. Is that true? Did you know about this?”

“Yes, I knew,” Eric said, in a placating tone. “But there’s a simple explanation.”

“I’m sure there is, but not one I want to hear.”

Eric’s expression went from open to glaring. “Don’t you trust Jack’s commitment? What about that ring on your finger? Do you think he would have given you that, if he weren’t sincere? Maybe you should talk with him before you jump to conclusions.”

“I tried, but your camera crew made that difficult. You promised nothing like this would happen, but instead, you ambushed me.”

“No, no. This is just all in good fun.”

“Fun for whom? Not me, that’s for damn sure.”

“For the viewers. The fans. That’s why we’re here. This is TV and we have to tell a good story.”

“But it isn’t a story. It’s my life.”

“This isn’t your real life, Hannah. It’s just an illusion, an alternate version of it. For ten weeks, you’ll be acting out a role, as your signed contract stipulates.” His voice hardened on the words ‘signed contract.’ “Then it’s over, and you return to your real, real life.”

Hannah hung her head as they stepped into the open elevator. “Assuming I still have one.”

Chapter Seven

From across the lobby, Vlad watched the producer and Hannah board the elevator. Eric was trying to calm her down, but she didn’t seem to be taking it well. Not that Vlad blamed her. What a way to have life blow up in your face. He couldn’t say for sure, but his gut told him the blonde chick’s perfectly timed appearance was staged. And they called this reality TV?

What a joke.

He went into the coffee and juice shop at the rear of the hotel. At midday, it was deserted, other than the teenage girl who smiled from behind the counter and took her time serving him a cup of island-grown dark roast. He carried his mug to a table in the back and opened his notebook. He started to read the character sketch he’d been working on, but couldn’t wrap his mind around it. All he could do was roll his pen between his fingers and think about the woman with pretty eyes and a jerk of a boyfriend.

With the flings given the day off while the couples were arriving, Vlad had intended to stay in his room and write. They’d taken away his laptop when he arrived yesterday, but he had a blank notebook, pens and time. After breakfast this morning, he shaved, dressed and sat at the desk in his room, staring down at the page’s empty lines. He’d written longhand before, though not in many years, and it was going to take getting used to. After two hours, and countless scratch-outs, he’d accomplished little. The TV and its unlimited movies were becoming harder to resist. People-watching often inspired him, so he’d headed down to the lobby.

When he caught sight of the arriving New York couple, he was intrigued. There was a softness to Hannah that drew him in. She didn’t give off “look at me” vibes like most of the other women here. Her clothes were nothing special, but she’d just gotten off an early morning flight. The fact she wasn’t dressed to impress made her seem genuine. Her hair was wild and curly, but touchable.

The guy, on the other hand, had an arrogant demeanor he didn’t like, and was so focused on the cameras that he left his fiancée to fend for herself with two heavy bags. Vlad went to offer his help, and when he caught her arm to keep her from falling, he’d gotten a good look at her face. She was pretty in an open and honest way, graced by soft brown eyes and a kind smile. One look told him that she was a good person. He’d had enough experience with the other kind to become an excellent judge of character. When the blonde, Robynne—who he’d already placed in the
other kind
category—made her grand entrance, falling all over Hannah’s guy in front of the cameras, her face crumpled with horror and shock.

Shock, horror. Sort of the way his
The Flesh Zone
heroine would have looked when the monsters savagely devoured her husband, who come to think of it, might have been an arrogant yuppie-type with wavy blond hair.

He grabbed his pen and began to write.

He filled three pages before his coffee ran out and he went to the counter for a refill. Again, the barista took her time and suggested he try a
jibarito
, a sandwich made with fried plantains. As he was waiting for his food, Alison Michaels walked in and ordered a pineapple smoothie. He’d been introduced to her on the beach yesterday and liked her right away. Not just in a physical way, though she was very good-looking. Rather it was her approach to the show he appreciated. She was classy and professional, while some of their castmates tried to attract attention by being obnoxious. The ex-actress turned to Vlad and offered a bemused smile. “Hiding?”

He shrugged. “Maybe a little. You?”

“I’ll be on camera plenty tonight at the opening party,” she said, though she didn’t seem to be boasting, simply stating a fact. “No need to go looking for it now.”

The barista brought his coffee and
jibarito
. Alison eyed the sandwich as the girl passed him the plate. “That looks good. I’ll have one, too,” she told the barista, then turned to Vlad. “Mind if I join you?”

He’d hoped to write some more, but didn’t want to be rude. “Sure,” he said, and she followed him with her plate and drink.

“I saw the New York couple arrive today,” Vlad said when they sat down to eat. The
jibarito
was like nothing he’d eaten before, with crisp fried plantains in place of bread, buttery melted cheese and a tangy sauce made with garlic and cilantro. “Do you know anything about them?”

“Jack and Hannah are friends of Eric’s,” she said.

“Both of them?”

She raised a brow. “Yes, both of them. But I don’t know much else.”

Vlad hoped his disappointment didn’t show. At the same time, her familiarity with the producer piqued his attention. “Are you and Eric friends?”

The bemused smile returned. “I don’t know if we’re friends, exactly. It might be more accurate to say we have an understanding.”

“You’re going to be the one Chris chooses?” Was the fix already in? If that was the case, Vlad wondered where he stood.

“I didn’t say that. But when I agreed to come on this show, I made it clear that it wasn’t because I wanted to be a reality TV star. I have people depending on me and a business to save. If this is how I have to do it?” She raised her pineapple smoothie in a salute. “A girl’s gotta do, what a girl’s gotta do.”

Her comment sounded like a line spoken by the jaded character she seemed to be portraying, yet there was a note of sadness in her knowing little smile. Once again, Vlad found himself wondering what here was real, and what wasn’t.

* * *

In her room, Hannah’s thoughts kept returning to the same question.
Why had Jack chosen Robynne?

His happiness at seeing her seemed sincere. Disturbingly so. Though Eric insisted she shouldn’t jump to conclusions, it was difficult not to. She twisted the ring on her finger, the sparkling, precious symbol of Jack’s love. She should talk to him first. Eric had said there was a reasonable explanation for this. Hannah hoped he was right.

She rose and went to the mini-fridge, stocked with beverages courtesy of one of the show’s sponsors. Diet soda. Lime-flavored light beer. Nutra-Water in plain and Fruitilicious flavors. She opened a bottle of Mango-Blueberry Bliss and took a sip.
Ick.
Some flavors weren’t meant to go together. She set it aside and took a Pomegranate Splash instead.

She kicked off her Birkenstocks and sat in the overstuffed chair, her feet propped on the ottoman. At least the pedi made her happy, though she noticed a bit of dark stubble around her ankles. How long since she’d last shaved? No idea. In New York, it was twenty degrees and Jack didn’t mind if she went au naturel in the winter. At least she didn’t think he did. Robynne probably never let herself go. Hannah hurried to the shower and shaved, managing to nick herself twice.

Afterward, she wrapped herself in a white spa robe and went out onto her balcony, shaded by a stubby palm. From here, she could see the beach, sparkling waves and, just offshore, a small island, which must be Isla Cara, site of the zip line course Jack had mentioned. She let the ocean’s hypnotic roll soothe her frazzled emotions and breathed in the clean salty air. The sound of laughter floated on the breeze, and she saw people playing volleyball at the south end of the beach. She was too far away to see the players, but there was a camera crew on the sideline.

Could they be the flings? Laughing and high-fiving one another, they seemed harmless. Almost playful. Yet they’d come here with one goal—to win a small fortune by enticing someone to cheat on the person they love.

Who
did
that, and for money no less?

A knock sounded at Hannah’s door. Hopeful, she went to answer, but instead of Jack she found three women—a fortyish blonde, a woman about Hannah’s age whose blue-black hair was styled in a Bettie Page bob and a short, stocky Latina. The blonde waltzed in, clutching a carryall loaded with hairstyling implements. “Hi, we’re your vanity team. I’m Deena.”

“Rox,” said the Bettie Page-lookalike, following behind.

“Lupe.” The Latina pushed a wardrobe rack through the door. Behind her, a white-shirted hotel worker wheeled a room service cart into the corner. Hannah was surprised to find herself disappointed that it wasn’t the sexy bellhop.

Deena and Rox set their cases in front of the mirrored vanity, and Lupe took a folding director’s chair from her cart. “We’ve come to make you beautiful,” said Deena, whose voice had a bright Texas twang.

Hannah laughed. “Hope you’re good at your jobs.”

The women exchanged glances, but none laughed with her. Deena gestured to the chair. “Have a seat. Rox, why don’t you pour Hannah a nice glass of wine?”

That sounded better than Pomegranate Splash Nutra-Water. Hannah sat in the director’s chair as Deena draped a cape over her robe. Rox brought a large wineglass, filled to the brim. Hannah took a sip, being careful not to spill. The white wine was light and dry, with gentle citrus undertones. Perfect for a late afternoon in the Caribbean. “This is excellent.”

Rox smiled. “Have as much as you like.”

As Deena tugged a comb through her thick, hyper-curly hair, Hannah winced. “The humidity really does a number on it. I hope you can do something to control the frizz.”

“We’re not going to control it,” said Deena. “It’s part of your look. You’re Everywoman, not a glamour queen.”

Everywoman, not a glamour queen
. Yup, that was her. The vanities worked and chatted to one another, and Hannah let her mind drift far from Resorte Siete Mares. She was back at the Port Pleasant Country Club, three summers ago, at Rachel’s wedding.

Hannah often joked that she and Jack finally got together because of a stone-skipping contest. Not one where she’d challenged him and won, in a cutesy rom-com sort of way, but rather, a contest she lost.

The wedding party was being photographed by a pond on the country club grounds when Darren and a few of the groomsmen started skipping stones across the water. Rachel watched for a minute, and then grabbed a stone and strutted over, brimming with the confidence that came with being fabulous at everything. “You guys are goin’ down,” she said and, with a graceful flick of her wrist, sent the stone skimming across the water.

A gorgeous stone-skipping bride was too greeting-card perfect for the videographer to pass up, so he’d urged them into a little contest. One by one, Rachel bested each guy, and they loved every second of it. When it was the bridesmaids’ turn, Hannah tried, but couldn’t get the hang of it. Each of her stones sank like, well, stones. The others rolled their eyes. The videographer quit filming. Hannah felt like crap. When it was over, she’d turned to Rachel and asked, “Where did you learn to do to that?”

Rachel had given her an odd look. “Learn?”

The moment ate at her the rest of the day. Granted, it was silly, but it was also so indicative of her life. She was an A-student at an Ivy League university, and that summer had an internship at one of New York’s biggest publishing houses, but no one batted an eye. Meaningless stuff like bouncing a rock over a pond? That impressed people. Later, fed up with Rachel’s awesomeness and older relatives’ whispers about “poor little Hannah with the Feldman shape,” she’d wandered out to the terrace. Her heart quickened when she saw Jack, who’d come to the wedding with his folks, sitting alone, his feet propped on the balustrade, drink in hand.

“Hey there, Hannah Banana.” There was a slight slur in his words.

Hannah’s heart thrummed. “Hey yourself.”

He pulled out the empty chair beside him, but kept his gaze turned to the twilit golf course. Hannah fought the butterflies that his presence often brought and tried to think of something to say. Jack sipped his cocktail and sighed. “They told me to study law, not theater. Score well on the LSAT? Did that, too. But none of it fucking matters, because at the end of the day, I’ll never be a brain surgeon.”

Hannah winced. This must be about his older brother, who actually was a brain surgeon.

“Tonight, when your dad came over to congratulate me for getting into law school, you know what my dad said?”

“What?”

Jack dropped his chin and lowered his voice, in a spot-on impersonation of Ralph Gordon. “‘Well, Marty, UMass is fine as state schools go, but it’s a shame he didn’t get into Harvard, like Mark did.’” He looked over, the pain evident in his eyes. “Why can’t they be proud of me for once?”

“I totally get it.” She offered a sympathetic smile, and poured out her frustrations of living in Rachel’s shadow, concluding with the stone-skipping contest.

“So how did you do?” Jack had asked.

Hannah snorted. “I’ve never skipped stones in my life. How do you think I did?”

He’d chuckled, and her mood brightened as their shortcomings became a common bond. Jack raised his glass. “To us, the family disappointments.”

Hannah laughed and tapped her glass to his. “To us.”

That night, he’d asked her to dance, and a few days later, he called to invite her to a movie. By summer’s end, they were a couple—a transition so natural that Hannah had to pinch herself. After all these years, Jack had realized what everyone else knew all along. They were meant for one another.

No other woman understood him the way she did, and no squeaky-voiced dental hygienist was going to come between them.

When Deena had finished with Hannah’s hair, Rox applied makeup so subtle it hardly seemed there at all. Lupe brought out a flowing, brightly colored dress.

“I thought I would be wearing my own clothes,” Hannah said.

“Tonight, we want you in something special.” Lupe held up the dress, and a pair of low-heeled sandals with wide brown straps.

The dress’s large floral print made it look like cruise wear for a woman her mother’s age. Not Hannah’s taste at all, but it was loose fitting and would disguise what needed disguising. The clunky shoes looked comfortable—probably a good thing, if she had to stand for hours. She paid no attention to fashion; these women were professionals who must know what they were doing. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

Twenty minutes later Cynthia Bishop and a camera crew arrived. “Oh, she looks
per
fect.”

“Exactly the look we’re after.” She turned to Hannah. “Nervous?”