12

Parenting isn’t on my list of accomplishments, I’m afraid. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get it right.

“Come on, Tabby, get into the scene. You’re seeing your children for the first time in three years.”

“I don’t remember them, Blythe,” I remind the pushy director. “How can I be emotionally connected to children I don’t recognize?”

“Your heart. Remember? Your heart always remembers. So there is going to be a place in Felicia’s soul that reaches out to her poor motherless children. She longs to embrace them, to hear them call her mommy.”

Good grief. Is she crying?

“You’re an actress,” she snaps. “Act like it. Everyone take five.”

Oh good. A few minutes to center myself. Okay. I close my eyes and try hard to focus. Somehow I have to get into this scene.

“You don’t have kids, do you?” I know it’s Jennifer, one of the twins. I recognize the voice.

Centering, here. I keep my eyes closed and try to ignore my little three-and-a-half-foot intruder.

She tugs on my sleeve. “Miss Brockman?”

My eyes pop open. “What, Jenn?”

“You don’t have any kids, do you?”

Okay, let’s twist the knife a couple of times. I give a fake smile. “No. I don’t.”

“My mommy died, so I don’t have a mom either.”

Something squeezes my heart as I look into innocent blue eyes. I kneel down until I’m eye-to-eye with her. “I know. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Only she’s not going to come back like you did.”

“That’s very true.”

“Know what I do, since I don’t really remember having a mom?”

“What?” How cute is she?

“I imagine you’re my real mommy. Jeffy does too. And that way we can pretend we really are yours.”

A lump tightens my throat, and I swallow hard to relieve the ache. “That’s so smart of you and Jeffy.”

“Do you think you could pretend you have kids? Then maybe you could get the scene right.” She gives me a frank stare. “Daddy said if we got done early we could go ice skating.”

Okay, talk about your ruined moments. Here I was feeling all sorry for her. Humiliation burns through me. I’m being coached by a five-year-old. “Sure, Jenn. I’ll work on it so you kids can get out of here.”

She nods. “Good. Let’s try to get it right this time.”

My jaw is hanging open as I watch her sashay across the set like she owns the place and grab a donut from the table.

“Smart little thing, isn’t she?”

I turn to find Sharon Blankenship watching the little girl with an amused expression on her normally harsh features. Smart wasn’t the word I was rolling around, but yeah, I guess she is.

Sharon is one of those women who always have just a bit of an edge to them. Intimidating as heck—not the type you’d associate with the warm fuzzies. Next to Sharon, my mom is mother of the year.

“Yeah,” I say. “She’s—something—all right.”

“You’re scared to death of those two.” She’s not asking. My defenses go up.

“Scared? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Listen,” she says, commanding my focus. I turn and look her square in her pinched face. “I’m going to give you some advice because you’ve been nice to my daughter.”

“I like Tonya. She does a good job with my makeup.” But that doesn’t mean I need coaching from not only the youngest member of the cast, but now the oldest as well.

I see just a flicker of softening. Ah, the way to her heart is through her daughter. Information that might come in handy if I had any desire to get to her heart—which I wasn’t positive she possessed until this moment.

“So what’s your advice to handle these scenes with the kids?”

“All right. It’s obvious you’re not a motherly woman.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she raises her hand and I zip it.

“That wasn’t an insult. I’m not known as the motherly type either. You have no personal experiences to draw from where children are concerned. So you’ll have to work twice as hard in the beginning to convince your fans that you are a mother to these two children.”

I feel all the fight go out of me, and I slump down on the green print sofa. “Tell me what to do.”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’ll have to act, my dear.”

How sage. “That’s your advice?”

She chuckles. “Did you think there was a magic formula? How do you think writers sit in a corner and write about romantic places and undying love?”

I give a pathetic shrug. “How should I know?”

“Don’t be surly or I won’t help. I can’t abide ingrates.”

“Sorry.”

“All right. Writers draw from their imagination and become their characters. You have to do the same thing.”

Isn’t this the same advice little Cindy Lou Who just gave me?

“You are also going to have to do some research. Spend a few days with a family. Watch all the old reruns of 7th Heaven. Do something to get your head in the game. You’re going to blow this otherwise. And Jerry won’t hesitate to kill you off again if the fans express too much discontent.”

“What do they want to see?”

“A family reunited.”

“This is a soap, for crying out loud. Why do people have to have kids on a soap? This isn’t 7th Heaven, for the love of Pete.”

She chuckles. “You have two demographics that represent our viewers. College students who want to see young, hot bodies . . .” She waves toward the bikini set—the fresh-faced group who have all the nightclub and beach scenes. Okay, I see her point.

“What’s the other?”

“Moms who sit in front of the soaps and fold their laundry. Or take a few minutes to rest and put up their feet while the babies are down for a nap. Whatever they’re doing… they’re watching you while they do it.”

“Don’t they watch to escape?”

“They want to escape their own lives for an hour. But soap moms don’t look dowdy or fat or frazzled. Their kids don’t get too dirty or bite the other kids at day care. It’s the ideal family life. And you have to make these moms believe that you love your kids as much as they love theirs.”

Now that sinks into my PMSing brain.

“Places!” Blythe returns with her coffee and megaphone.

“Wait. Blythe, can I speak with you?” I turn to Sharon. “Thank you. You’ve helped a lot. Will you excuse me?”

Sharon sends me a self-satisfied smile. “Of course.”

Blythe’s face is twisted in irritation. “What can I do for you, Tabby?”

“Listen. I know I’m having trouble getting into the scene with the kids.”

“Yeah, you’re going to have to get your head in the game,” she says. “We need to film this.”

“I know. I understand, really. But I need you to give me an extra day to do some research.”

Her face mottles and I think she might burst a blood vessel in her brain. I’m truly concerned for her. “What do you mean? Mess up the schedule? Do you know what Jerry will do to me if I mess up the shooting schedule?”

I’m guessing not a thing. Blythe is his golden girl. She’s won more daytime Emmys for directing than any daytime director in the last decade. I think he’ll forgive her.

“Can you please film another scene today and let me take the twins on a sort of field trip?”

“You want to… ?” I think she’s about to tell me to get my fanny back to the set when her expression shifts from ticked off to reflective. “You know. That might not be a bad idea.” She looks across the room. “Mr. Gray. Can you come here a sec?”

My heart thrums in my chest as David strides confidently toward us. He gives me only a cursory glance and looks away. My stomach dips with disappointment. He left immediately after midnight on New Year’s Eve, without even saying good-bye, and I haven’t seen him in the week since. I want so much to tell him that his was the kiss I was looking forward to. But I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be too receptive to my explanation so I figure it’s best to leave it alone.

“Tabby here wants to take your kids out for a play day. Is that okay with you?”

His gaze flickers to me with a puzzled frown. “Why do you want to do that?”

I’m about to open my mouth, but Blythe answers for me. “Research. She needs to wrap her head around the idea of being part of these kids’ lives. She’s the worst mother I’ve ever seen.”

And she’s seen every mother in the world? I couldn’t possibly be the worst. Still, my cheeks go hot beneath David’s scrutiny. “Yeah, I, um, need to wrap my head around being a mom. Do you mind?”

His eyes cloud over, and I think I see disappointment there. He doesn’t want me to hang out with his kids? Doesn’t he think I can handle it? “We’re going ice skating today,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “I guess she can come with us if she wants.”

I’m about to say, “Hey, don’t do me any favors, bud. I’ll go find another set of twins to conduct my experimental research.” But Blythe pipes up like I have no say in the matter.

“Okay, great.” Blythe moves her attention back to me. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll shoot the scene today. And if we need to reshoot some of your dialogue, we can do that and plug it in.”

“Fine.”

I spend the next two hours listening to Blythe yell at me and watching a couple of kids look at me like I’m a total moron. I’m not in the best mood—and neither are they—by the time Blythe calls a wrap.

“Sorry, everyone,” I say and head to makeup to get the scars taken off my face. Tonya’s eyes are filled with compassion.

I slump into the makeup chair, afraid I’ll be fired any second. “You saw that, huh?”

“Yeah. You’ll get it. You’re a fabulous actress.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” As a matter of fact, my confidence has completely fled. “The kids are more convincing than I am.”

“Well, they’ve had a mom. You’ve never had kids. And you’re not crazy about them, are you?”

It’s not that I don’t like kids. Honestly. I like kids. I just don’t “get” them. I don’t know how to talk baby talk. I’m pretty much a total failure when it comes to trying to relate to them. I don’t know why I have such a hard time. I just do.

“All done,” Tonya announces.

Freddie breezes into the room just as I’m about to beg for help for my splotchy face.

“Guess what I just heard,” he says, flopping into the chair next to mine. “Good grief, Tonya—do something about her face. It looks horrible.”

“Gee thanks, Freddie.” I give Tonya my best pout in the mirror. “I’ve got plans with David and the twins. Do you think you could…”

She grins. “Say no more. We’ll have you fixed up in a jiff.”

“Okay, Freddie. What did you hear this time?” I’m amazed that I’m too weary and disheartened to be turned on by the latest juicy gossip.

“Rachel Savage caught her husband, Seth, with another woman and that’s why she didn’t renew her contract with As the World Turns. She refuses to work with him.”

Ever since he missed the memo about Lucy being recast, I’m not completely convinced of Freddie’s ability to head up the rumor mill with integrity and reliability anymore. But I’m willing to give him a grudging benefit of the doubt. For now.

I find it difficult to drum up enthusiasm for anyone catching a cheating husband. Seriously. The only emotion the news evokes is compassion.

Obviously, my lack of response offends Freddie to the core. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me, girlfriend. After I walked all the way over here to cheer you up.”

“Sorry, Freddie. I just don’t think it’s ever happy news when a marriage breaks up.”

He rolls his eyes and pushes to his feet with dramatic flair. “I forgot you have a new set of morals.” The air quotes do not make him look manlier. But of course that’s not what he’s going for. He winks, though, and I know he forgives me. “Make sure you don’t miss our workout session tomorrow.” His eyes pan me. “A little too much Christmas candy?”

I stick out my tongue.

“Oh, one more thing,” he says, pausing at the door. “Julie’s the one who talked Jerry into recasting Rachel in the role of Lucy instead of killing her off.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Why do you think?” he asks caustically. “This rivalry between you and Rachel isn’t exactly a secret.”

“Rivalry?” I say in an airy, and completely unbelievable, lilting tone. “That was a hundred years ago.”

“That long?” He snickers. “Well, not everyone is as forgiving as you are. Julie wants to see you squirm.”

“Don’t be silly.” But given the writing she’s been doing for me, I’m not convinced of my own words. Freddie might be right.

“I think that’s really nice of you not to laugh about Rachel’s husband cheating on her.” Tonya’s voice is so quiet, I almost don’t hear her.

I look up, but she’s keeping her gaze firmly on my makeup. “Thank you,” I say, for lack of anything better.

She goes on like I didn’t speak anyway. “You know, when a woman isn’t very nice, there’s usually a reason. And beneath it all, she usually has a good heart.”

I have a feeling she’s talking about her mother. The woman’s been through five marriages and has definitely not been known as the sweetest of women during her decades-long career. “I agree with you,” I say softly.

“The only real friend Rachel has around here is David Gray, you know?”

“What about Julie?”

Tonya shrugs. “I don’t know. Something’s not right, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I used to see Rachel and her husband meet Trey and Julie on set and the four of them would go off for an evening together. But it’s kind of… different. Julie never seemed real happy about the arrangement.”

“Well, Julie’s never happy with anything. Is she?” I say cattily. I know I’m being a jerk, but Julie’s so mean to me I feel slightly justified.

“Maybe not. But I think she might have a good reason.”

Suddenly, Tonya’s generosity breaks through my cynicism. Shame nudges me. “Do you go to church, Tonya?” I ask out of the blue.

She smiles and nods. “Don’t tell my mom, though. She’s a die-hard agnostic. She’d kill me if she found out I’m a Christian. Mr. Gray and the twins go to my church.”

“You belong to Eighth Avenue Community?”

She shakes her head. “New Wine Fellowship. Just down the road.”

“I’ve seen it on the way to work. David goes there? But I saw him at my church a few months ago.”

She nods. “They haven’t gone long. He was church hunting for a while I think.”

“Hmm.” I guess that’s all there is to say about that. But sheesh. What’s wrong with my church?

“All done.” Tonya’s voice takes on a chipper tone, so I figure she’s not in the mood to delve into her mom’s issues. Which is probably just as well since I have issues of my own right now. I look at my reflection and breathe a sigh of relief. “You’re a miracle worker.”

A flush of pleasure creeps across her face, and she gives me a tentative smile. “Thank you.”

“Well, I suppose I’d better face the children.” Is it my imagination, or do I sound shaky? I’m such a coward. I walk out of the makeup room feeling a little more confident. Until I see the three of them huddled together, waiting with obvious impatience.

“Finally!” Jeffy says crossly. “Can we go now?”

My cheeks burn, and I look at the floor.

“All set?” David’s soft voice commands my gaze, and my eyes meet his.

“Sure. Sorry it took so long.”

He smiles. “They’re kids. They haven’t learned the fine art of patience. All right, then,” David says. “Let’s go.”

“Okay. Looking forward to it.” I smile my best Felicia Fontaine, and he smiles back. Ha, don’t tell me I’m not an actress.

“You’re dreading every second of this.” He laughs, the mirth rising all the way to his incredible eyes.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

He pats my shoulder like I’m one of his kids. “You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure they take it easy on you.”

“That sort of defeats the purpose of trying to get the full effect.”

A smirk twists his lips. “Trust me. You can’t handle the full effect.” He leans in closer and whispers, “Not yet, anyway.”

Now what was that supposed to mean?

The kids beeline to the door and wait for David to get there. See, they’re well behaved. But I’m looking forward to my solo car ride over to the skating rink. Fifteen blissful minutes all to myself to regroup and organize my thoughts. In the parking lot, I smile at David. “Okay, I’ll see you over there.”

In a flash, he takes my arm and steers me in the opposite direction.

“What are you doing? I have my friend’s car today.” I thumb point over my shoulder.

“I can’t let you drive separately.”

“Look, seriously. Dancy’s car…”

He stops and takes my shoulders in his hands, meeting me eye to eye. “There’s nothing more real about parenting than sharing a car ride with two hungry, tired five-year-olds.”

Ominous premonition slithers through me. I think this is going to be one long night.