What I Did for Love (29 page)

Georgie
lifted her head from the pillows as Bram came out of the bathroom from his morning shower. Two and a half weeks ago, the night after the quarantine had lifted, she’d been faced with the dilemma of whether to move back into the guest room or stay where she was. She’d ended up telling Bram that her old room had so many leftover cooties from Lance and Jade that she couldn’t go back. He’d agreed that some cooties were too contagious to risk.

She took a moment admiring him. The jet-black towel draped around his hips turned his lavender eyes to indigo. His hair was damp, and he hadn’t shaved for the past few days, giving him a rugged, virile elegance. Her imaginary baby stirred in her womb. She blinked herself back to reality. “When did you say you and Hank Peters were going to start auditioning actors?”

“The Tuesday after our wedding party, as you very well know.”

“Really? Only a week and a half away…” They’d gone into preproduction immediately because Hank Peters had a commitment to direct another film in November, and they didn’t want to lose him. She let the sheet slip below one breast, a wasted effort as it turned out, since he was already heading into his closet for the jeans and T-shirt that had become his producer’s work uniform. “And I’m still first up, right?”

“Will you relax? I promised you the first audition, and you’ll get it. But I swear to God, if you pin your hopes on this…”

“Hard to do with you telling me how unworthy I am.”

He popped his head out. “Don’t exaggerate. You’re a terrific actress and a gifted comic, and you know it.”

“But not gifted enough to play Helene?” She experimented with a smirk. “Remember this moment, Bramwell Shepard, because I’m going to make you eat those words.”

She wished she could be as confident as she sounded. She’d read the script twice more and begun creating a character log filled with ideas about Helene’s backstory and physical mannerisms. But she only had ten days before the audition, and this would be the most complex character she’d ever taken on. She had a lot more work to do before she’d be ready, and she kept losing her focus.

His gaze dipped to her breast. She’d had to force herself not to give in to the urge to shop for the sexiest nighties she could find. Instead, she’d stuck with her normal sleepwear, but her plain white cami and black boxers printed with pirate skulls now lay crumpled on the floor by the bed. She deliberately pulled the sheet up to her chin. “Don’t forget we have our last meeting with Poppy at nine.”

He groaned and headed back into the closet. “No way am I sitting through any more meetings about floral arrangements and Jordan almonds stamped with the family crest. What the hell is a Jordan almond anyway?”

“An almond that tastes like soap.” The general uneasiness that had been plaguing her since she realized that Bram now had everything he wanted propelled her out of bed. “The Skip and Scooter wedding extravaganza was your idea, and it’s only eight days away. You’re not dodging that meeting.”

“I’ll give you a hundred bucks and another back rub if you let me skip it.”

“I don’t need a hundred bucks. As for your back rubs…Study an anatomy book, pal, because what you’ve been rubbing isn’t my back.”

“And aren’t you glad?”

She had to admit she was.

He ended up staying for the meeting.

Poppy Patterson’s heavy
perfume, exaggerated speech, and clattering charm bracelets drove them both crazy, but she was an imaginative and efficient party planner. She understood that the paparazzi’s helicopters would make it impossible to hold an outdoor celebration, and she’d come up with the perfect indoor venue—the magnificent 1920s Eldridge Mansion built in the same English manor house style as the Scofield mansion. With its luxuriously appointed ballroom, it could comfortably hold their two hundred guests, all of whom had been instructed to wear a costume inspired by the show.

Aaron and Chaz joined in as they sat around Bram’s dining room table to go over the final arrangements. They started with the decorations and ended with the food. Everything on the menu played a part in an episode of
Skip and Scooter,
beginning with the hors d’oeuvres: mini deep-dish pizzas; tiny, heart-shaped peanut butter sandwiches; and bite-size Chicago hot dogs—no ketchup.

The meal was more formal, and Chaz began reading the menu aloud. “Rocket and Parmesan salad, episode forty-one, ‘Scooter Meets the Mayor.’ Rum-glazed lobster tails with mango, episode two, ‘Nice Horsey.’ Black pepper–seared beef tenderloin, episode sixty-three, ‘Skip’s Lost Weekend.’”

“Rocket?” Bram yawned. “Sounds flammable.”

“It’s arugula,” Chaz replied. “You like it.” She eyed Poppy, who was dressed in a champagne knit St. John suit with goggle-size designer sunglasses pushed on top of her brunette socialite’s bob. “I’m glad you got rid of that foie gras mousse crap.”

From the beginning Poppy had let it be known she resented dealing with a currently purple-haired twenty-year-old who wasn’t
a rock star. “It was mentioned in episode twenty-eight, ‘The Scofield Curse.’”

“When Scooter fed it to the
dog.
”

Bram’s eyes glazed over as the discussion went on. The past few weeks had been odd. Bram left for the studio early in the morning and didn’t return until late. She missed him in a way she couldn’t exactly define…just that life seemed flatter without their verbal sparring. Even their nightly sexual romps didn’t quite compensate. Their lovemaking was fun and exciting, but something was missing.

Of course, something was missing. Trust. Respect. Love. A future.

Except…She’d developed a grudging respect for him. She didn’t know another man who’d have taken Chaz in, and she loved the way he’d find the homeliest woman in the crowd and eye-smolder her until she felt like a supermodel. He’d also acquired a surprisingly strong work ethic. But fundamentally, Bram had always been out for himself, and that would never change.

Eventually, Poppy packed up her python bag, releasing a great puff of perfume. “I have a small surprise planned for the evening,” she announced. “Just so you know. One of the special touches I’ve made my trademark. You’ll love it.”

Bram snapped out of his preoccupation. “What kind of surprise?”

“Now, now. Spontaneity is everything.”

“I’m not too crazy about spontaneity,” Georgie said.

Poppy’s charm bracelets clattered. “You hired me to arrange a spectacular party, and that’s what I’m doing. You’ll be over the moon. I promise.”

Bram was impatient to get away, and he cut off Georgie’s protest. “As long as I don’t have to wear tights or drink lite beer, go ahead.”

Poppy left soon after, and Bram headed off to the studio.

Georgie wanted to edit more film, and she needed to work on
her character log for Helene, but first she called April. They’d been working together long-distance on Georgie’s gown and accessories, and her last fitting was coming up. When their conversation ended, she jotted down some more thoughts about Helene, but her attention kept wandering, and she finally let herself go upstairs to look at the last footage she’d shot—a group of single mothers trying to make a living at a minimum-wage job. Hearing firsthand accounts of these working women’s lives once again reminded her of how privileged she was.

Rory had helped her escape the paparazzi on her photographic excursions by offering one of her own garages as a place for Georgie to stash a car the paps wouldn’t recognize. When Georgie wanted to leave the house without being followed, she slipped through the back gate and used Rory’s driveway to drive off in the Toyota Corolla Aaron had leased for her. So far none of the paps was the wiser, and hauling around video equipment had provided her with a degree of anonymity she hadn’t anticipated. Although the subjects she interviewed knew who she was, she found herself moving around with a small degree of freedom.

Several hours had passed when Chaz poked her head in. “Your old man’s moving back into the guesthouse.”

Georgie’s head shot up from her monitor. “My dad?”

Chaz tugged on her fluorescent purple bangs. “He said they didn’t get all the mold out of his house. Personally, I think he just wants to freeload off Bram.”

Her father hadn’t taken any of her calls since she’d fired him, so why had he suddenly shown up? She didn’t need another lecture about her bad judgment and general incompetence, and she definitely didn’t want to talk about Laura. Firing her might have been good business, but she couldn’t feel completely right about it. She wished Bram were here.

Aaron wandered in from his errands, his arms full of packages. “Your father’s downstairs.”

“So I heard.” She wanted to finish her film editing, not deal with the inevitable, and she stalked across the room to Chaz. “You listen to me…If there’s even a tiny part of you that doesn’t hate everything about me, would you keep him away from me, just for another hour? Please.”

Chaz took her time thinking it over. “I will…” She smirked. “But only if you eat something first.”

“Stop nagging.”

Chaz responded with a megasmirk.

Thanks to Chaz’s menus, Georgie had gained back the weight she’d lost, but that didn’t ease her irritation. “Fine! But the hour doesn’t start until I’m finished.”

“I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

And she was, bearing two plates: one with a salmon-topped salad chock-full of fresh vegetable goodies, the other an enormous submarine sandwich stuffed with three different kinds of meat, cheese, and guacamole. Georgie and Aaron exchanged resigned looks as Chaz slammed the salad in front of him and the fat sub before Georgie.

“You need the calories,” Chaz said when Georgie begged to trade. “Aaron doesn’t.”

Georgie grabbed the sandwich. “Now you’re a big nutrition expert.”

“Chaz is an expert at everything,” Aaron said. “Just ask her.”

Chaz folded her arms and looked smug. “I know Becky finally talked to you yesterday.”

“She wants me to take a look at her computer, that’s all,” he said.

“You’re such a moron. I don’t know why I waste my time.”

Georgie knew, but she wasn’t stupid enough to point out that Chaz was a natural nurturer.

With lunch nearly over, Georgie made Chaz go back downstairs to watch out for her father. Aaron left to get the oil changed on her car, and Georgie returned to her editing. An hour ticked by.

“May I come in?”

Startled, she looked up to see her father standing in the doorway. He wore gray shorts, a light blue polo, and he needed a haircut. He nodded toward the computer. “What are you doing?”

He was certain to criticize, but she told him anyway. “New hobby. I’ve been shooting some film.”

His answering silence unnerved her. She fiddled with the computer mouse. “Everybody deserves a hobby.” She lifted her chin. “I bought editing equipment. Just for fun.”

He rubbed his index finger with his thumb. “I can see.”

“Is something wrong with that?”

“No. I’m just surprised.”

He was surprised because the idea hadn’t come from him.

A shrieking silence filled the room. She made herself sit straighter in her chair. “Dad, I know you don’t approve of the way I’ve been doing things, but I’m not going to discuss it with you anymore.”

He shifted his weight, nodded. “I…just wondered if you had any idea where the fuse box is located in the guesthouse. One of the circuits blew, and I didn’t want to poke around without asking first.”

“Fuse box?”

“Never mind. I’ll check with Chaz.” His footsteps faded down the hall.

She stared at the empty doorway. He’d been acting so strangely since the splashing incident in the pool. She needed to talk to him—really talk—but hadn’t she been trying to do that for years?

She glanced toward her monitor. He had a good eye. She wished she could show him some of the footage she’d shot, but she needed his support, not his criticism. If they could only…relax together.

A wisp of memory skidded through her.

A small, shabby room…an ugly gold carpet…books strewn everywhere…Her parents were fast dancing…and then they
started tickling each other. Chasing around the room. Her father hopped over a chair. Her mother grabbed Georgie. “Now what are you going to do, big guy? I’ve got the kid.”

All three of them falling on the floor, laughing.

Her father went
out to dinner, so Georgie couldn’t ask him whether her memory was real or not, although it probably wouldn’t have done any good, since he had a habit of brushing aside her questions about the past. Georgie gave him credit for at least trying not to speak badly of her mother, even though it was obvious their marriage had been a mistake.

The next morning she woke up a jittery mess. The party was a week away. Her father had moved in. She had the most important audition of her career coming up for a part no one believed she could pull off.
And
…now that her fake husband had his film deal, he might decide he didn’t need her fifty thousand a month and bail on her. The zit that broke out on her forehead was almost a relief. A small problem that wouldn’t hang around for long.

She spent the rest of the morning having her hair highlighted and her brows shaped. By the time she got home, she felt like jumping out of her skin. She was too agitated to concentrate on prepping for her audition. Instead, she decided to pack up her camera equipment and drive outside the paparazzi zone, maybe Santee Alley to interview some of the women selling designer knockoffs.

She hadn’t seen her father all morning, but he appeared just as she was coming downstairs with her equipment bag. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his khaki pants and jiggled his keys. “Do you want to go to a movie this afternoon?”

“You mean in a theater?”

“It’d be fun.”

The word sounded strange on his lips. “I don’t think so,” she said.

“Then maybe lunch?”

She needed to get this over with, and she hitched her equipment bag higher on her shoulder. “You don’t have to be so polite. It makes me nervous. Go ahead and say what you want to—that I’m a shitty, ungrateful daughter. That I don’t understand the business. That—”