Right now I’d give my right arm for a man to do the heavy lifting. Laini is diving right in to her newly rediscovered love of decorating and is going crazy with our apartment. At the moment we are lugging an enormously heavy oak wardrobe up the stairs. She insisted we need it for our bedroom and talked me into shelling out big bucks for it. Wish she’d have talked me into paying for the delivery!
But I have to admit she has a good eye for furniture. I just wish she had bigger muscles.
Dancy groans under the weight of the huge box. “Please, can’t we just set it down for a second?”
“Okay,” I say. “Good idea. On three. One, two, three.”
We all breathe audible sighs once we’re relieved of the weight. “Note to you, Laini,” Dancy says, still huffing. “Next time you want to bring home a couch or appliance or anything over fifty pounds, bring home a sexy, muscly man to go with it.”
Laini grins. “Believe me. I wish I knew one.”
“Don’t we all.”
“I know some,” I say in a nongloating way. “But none of them want me.”
“Brian does,” Laini says with a laugh.
“Oh please. Don’t give me a nervous breakdown.”
“We’re pathetic,” Dancy says. “We’re going to be living together when we’re eighty.”
“Well, I can think of worse company,” I say entirely from my heart. “But I’m not giving up. Let’s have a party.”
Dancy gasps. Something Dancy rarely does, so Laini and I are immediately intrigued. “Let’s have an unveiling Felicia Fontaine party.”
“What? That’s not what I meant.” Although the idea does have merit. Actually . . .
Laini adds an enthusiastic, “That’s a great idea! When’s the unveiling, Tabs?”
“Um. I’m still wearing gauze, and we tape about three weeks in advance, so it’ll be at least a month. Is that too far away?”
“That’s perfect,” Laini says. “We’ll have plenty of time to prepare the guest list and decide on a menu. It can be a New Year’s Eve–slash–Felicia unveiling party! What do you say?”
We’re all very into the idea of killing two birds with one stone.
“In the meantime, let’s get this thing up the stairs so I can soak in an aromatherapy bath,” Dancy groans. “I’m going to need it.”
We’re close enough to our apartment at the top of the stairs that when the door buzzes, we can hear it.
We all look down and can see through the glass door that… Brian is standing there, nose to the glass looking in.
I can’t believe it.
“Weasel boy,” Dancy says, bitterness edging her voice. “Do you want to buzz him in?”
“Of course she doesn’t,” Laini says.
“Hey, wait a minute, guys. If we let him in, he can help us carry the wardrobe inside.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Dancy reaches for me and misses. “Grab her, Laini!”
“Tabby! If you let him in, he’s going to think you want to date him.” Those words from Laini are enough to accomplish what a full body block failed to do. I stop and stare down at him. He’s just standing there like a puppy in a window, waiting to be noticed. My heart sort of goes out to him. And he does have man muscles that we desperately need. So, in a moment of weakness, I do what I know I shouldn’t do. I step inside the apartment and buzz the guy in.
I mean, maybe it’s a sign that he’s supposed to help, since he showed up right when we needed some muscle power.
A sign, my foot,” Dancy nearly explodes later that night after Brian helps us get the wardrobe settled, eats us out of house and home, and finally takes the hint we’d like him to leave when Dancy gives a great big yawn and says, “Brian, you must be exhausted after all that moving. I know I’m ready to hit the sack.” I let Brian out, deflect a lip-lock, and kiss his cheek in farewell. A harmless “thank you.”
But Dancy doesn’t see it that way. She’s livid. “I can’t believe you kissed that guy!”
“It was more of a peck on the cheek than a kiss. You make it sound like we made out.”
“When you don’t even like a guy, you shouldn’t lead him on just to save you the trouble of moving furniture.”
Okay, her high and mighty attitude is beginning to tick me off a little. I mean, come on. I fed him, let him watch my TV, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. I don’t think I promised forever.
“Why do you care anyway? Do you have a thing for Brian now? Because I’d be happy to have you take him off my hands.”
She scowls at me. “Do whatever you want. But don’t come crying to me when you can’t get rid of him.”
She stomps off and slams her bedroom door. I press my palm against my aching forehead. I hate fighting with my friends. It just feels wrong. I mean, it’s inevitable when three women share an apartment. There will be tension no matter how close we are, how much we care for each other. Sometimes, we have to each go to our corners and catch our breath, tend the wounds, and come back, ready to tap gloves and make it about friendship once again.
In my corner, I switch on the TV and flip through the channels. The sound of “Did you ever know that you’re my hero?” stops the surfing. Beaches? How can I stay mad at my friend when Barbara Hershey is dying of heart disease and her best friend Bette Midler is nursing her? Sort of. Darn it. I can’t let Dancy go to bed mad. What if she wakes up in the night with heart disease or is abducted by aliens (and who has proof there aren’t any)?
Shoving up from the couch, I pad down the hall to Dancy’s room and tap on the door. “Dan?”
“Just a minute.”
But it’s too late; I’ve already opened the door. She’s wiping her eyes. “Oh, Dancy. I’m sorry.”
She straightens her shoulders. “No. I should mind my own business. You have a right to kiss anyone you want to.”
Okay, I was not kissing! But that little reminder wouldn’t bode well for this particular situation whereby we are making up. So I let it go. “You’re just being a good friend and looking out for me.”
She hesitates. And we start to laugh. “Okay, so that’s that. Fight number eight million, six hundred nine thousand and two is officially over. Right?”
I smile. “Right.” I flop down at the foot of her bed. “So, how was work today?” See how we do that? Just clear the air and pick right up. The key to really great friendship is never holding a grudge. That and lots of chocolate. And the fact that we both—along with Laini—love Billie Holiday and Karen Carpenter.
“Horrible. Jack came in. ‘Just to get a bit of a peek at the office.’” She does air quotes and gives a really bad Hugh Grant imitation. She rolls her eyes. “Which means I had to do the whole song and dance while he was there and pretend I’m honored to be working for him.”
“Maybe he won’t be any good and they’ll fire him,” I offer, hoping it helps.
She throws me a patronizing smile. “Sure, maybe. An award-winning editor isn’t going to be any good at his job.”
“It was a thought.”
“I know. Too bad it’s not true. They could fire him and hire me.”
“Which they should have done in the first place.”
“I guess.”
I can tell Dancy’s not in the mood to talk. She’s not usually a deep talker anyway. And now, she keeps glancing at her laptop, which has booted up as we’ve been chatting.
“Going to do some work?”
She nods. “The new Tad Goodman mystery. I swear I don’t know how he ever got published. His manuscripts come in so cluttered. He’s wordy, uses poor grammar, bad sentence structure, predictable plots. This one is going to take a complete rewrite and he’s going to throw a fit and we’ll probably have to hire a ghostwriter to do it because my boss is such a wuss he refuses to let Tad go but he knows we can’t publish the books the way they come to us.”
Her long face is my cue. “Well, I’ll leave you alone so you can work.”
Dancy gives me a nod and turns to her laptop. “Thanks for coming in here. I don’t like it when we fight.”
“Me either.”
She smiles. I smile back. And that’s that.
Good grief, Tabitha. Play off the other actors. You’re acting like you’re the only person in the scene.”
Blythe has been hollering at me all day. I know my head isn’t in the scene. I keep wondering where David is today. But why does this director have to be so uptight? She’s great, but such a sergeant major.
“Sorry, Blythe. I’m trying.” A very humble response. I’m proud of myself.
“Well, try harder,” she snaps back. “Stop being such a diva.”
Diva? Okay, if she’s going to be insulting.
“Places, please. And… action.”
Felicia: “You’re my sister?”
Concentrate, Tabby. The woman has just revealed she’s your sister. Show some emotion. I force myself to tear up. No easy feat.
Nurse: “Yes. And I can’t believe you’ve been here the whole time, and I never knew it was you under the wrappings.” (Gag me now!) “Mother will be so happy.”
Felicia (I lay my hand on the nurse’s arm in an attempt to play off the other actress, as directed): “But I can’t remember any of you. Maybe it would be better to wait for me to meet her. I don’t want to disappoint her.”
Nurse (Covers my hand with hers. Oh, that’s good! This girl is great—a totally different sister than I had before. The last one was fired after showing up drunk three days in a row, I understand, per Freddie’s gossip chain): “Sweetie, you’ll soon find out that our family sticks together through thick and thin. Mom will want to baby you and take care of you while you recover, whether you regain your memory or not.” (She gives a slight laugh.) “Trust me. You’ll be in good hands.”
Felicia: “I just… but what about my face? The doctor said I’ll have at least six months of surgeries before I look like myself again. I-I don’t know if I want anyone to see how hideous I am.” (Julie wrote “what a monster I am” but I changed it.)
Nurse: “You’re hardly a monster, Felicia.”
“Cut! For crying out loud will you two please play the scene together?” Blythe glares at me. “Say the right line so you don’t throw anyone off.”
“Fine,” I mumble. I guess “monster” it is so that Miss I-can’t-improvise doesn’t get thrown for a loop.
“Action!”
Yada yada.
Monster . . .
Nurse: “You’re hardly a monster, Felicia. Although you are a little heavier than you used to be.”
What? I never saw that in the script. I’ll kill Julie Foster. . . .
“Cut!” Oh. Did I just say that?
“Excuse me; did someone hire you to take my job without telling me?” Blythe glares at me and walks to the set. “What’s your problem?”
“Did you hear what she just said about me being heavier than I used to be?”
“Yeah, so?”
“What sister is going to say that to a woman who feels like a monster with all of her scars?”
Blythe takes a breath like she’s going to blow a gasket at me, then a reflective frown creases her brow. She turns to June Wright, the actress playing my nurse/sister. “She’s right. Lose the line.”
“Not until you take it up with Julie,” June says, giving her a haughty sneer.
Blythe’s eyes narrow, and she steps all five feet of her pudgy body into Miss Nurse’s personal space. “You’re going to do as you’re told.”
June backs down as quickly as she attempted to stand up to the little director. “Fine.”
“Good.” I swear Blythe is part bear. She literally growls on the way back to her spot. “Don’t make me do another take, you two.”
“Action!”
Yada, yada—no weight gain line.
Nurse: “Besides, we don’t love you for your outward beauty. We love you for the good person you are inside. That goodness shines from your beautiful eyes, and no one will even notice your scars.”
I allow tears to well up once more and press a kiss to the back of her hand. (Incredible acting, I must say.)
Felicia: “Thank you for that.” (My voice is barely a whisper.)
Nurse: “You’ll let Mom come see you, then?”
I nod.
Felicia: “But only her.”
Rudolph enters.
Rudolph: “What about me? Don’t you want to see your husband?”
“And, cut! That’s a wrap. Go home everyone,” Blythe hollers. “Way to go, ladies.”
I smile at June. “You’re really good.”
She looks down at me with haughty disdain. “Warn me next time you plan to kiss me. Got it?”
“Uh. Sure. Sorry.” Talk about a diva!
A stagehand comes to my aid, helping me remove the tubing and wires from my body.
“Wait, Tabitha and Trey. Stay here. I want to go ahead and film the next scene between you two. You have your pages memorized, right?”
“Right,” I say. Mostly.
With a weary sigh I lie back in the bed and the stagehand reconnects all my wires. My face is unwrapped and full of fake scars. It’s quite humbling to see myself like this. I’ve been totally dreading this coming scene with Rudolph. He has to kiss me before he realizes I have no memory of him. Apparently, none of his friends have bothered to disclose Felicia’s unfortunate case of amnesia.
Laini and Dancy are both on the set today. They’ve come to watch the first scene where Rudolph sees Felicia. Looks like they’re not going to be disappointed. I send them both an apologetic shrug. Dancy grins. She’s in pure heaven being on the set of her favorite soap. Just wait until I tell her what June Wright, Felicia’s so-called sister, said to me. Hateful broad!
“Quiet,” Blythe calls, and the set immediately hushes.
Trey is at my bedside, ready to lay it on thick.
“Action!”
Rudolph: “Darling, my beauty. I can’t believe it’s really you.”
He moves in for a kiss. Ugh. Coffee breath. And unless I miss my guess, he ate seafood and garlic for lunch. Someone get this guy a tube of Mentos. Please. Thankfully, the kiss is short and he pulls me into his chest, and I feel… oh my gosh I feel nauseated. Because yes, on top of the bad breath, Trey has a case of B.O. How can a semi-hot soap star be so hygienically challenged?
He caresses the back of my head as he smothers me to him, then pulls away, keeping his hands on my upper arms.
Rudolph: “I can’t believe it’s really you.” (Uh, didn’t he already say that?) “You’re as beautiful as the day we met.” (Okay, even on a good day, that’s a bad line. And not the greatest acting.)
Felicia (Oh no! I feel a laugh coming on): “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are.”
“Cut! Tabitha. Can we please do the scene without you laughing?”
“I’m sorry, Blythe. I’m okay now. The—um—wire was tickling me.”
“Well, move the wire so that it doesn’t tickle you and let’s get this scene wrapped up.”
“Okay. Will do.” I fiddle with a bit of tubing. “Ready.”
“Action.”
Rudolph: “Darling…” yada yada.
Kiss kiss. Big whiff of sweaty male. Ew.
Felicia (Oh, Jesus, help me. Trey has a toupee. I had no idea!): “I don’t know you.”
I’m cracking up and so are the spectators on the set.
“Cut! Tabby! For the love of Pete. What is wrong with you? Now, listen here. Stop that laughing. When you look at Trey, I want to see love in your eyes this time. Capiche?”
“But I don’t even remember him,” I fire back. “No one’s going to believe it if I look at him with love in my eyes.” If only they had to inhale what I’m enduring over here. Dare I ask for some strong air freshener? A Yankee candle maybe?
“Your soul remembers him. Rudolph is the one and only for Felicia. Her memory is gone, but her heart knows him. And I want to see that heart in her eyes. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Blythe. I’m sure I’ll get it right this time.”
“What’s a matter, Tabby?” Trey asks in a slightly taunting tone for my ears only. “Did you forget how to act?”
“Did you ever know how?” I hiss back. Not nice. And completely immature. But he’s always gotten on my nerves, and even more so now that he’s married to the head writer.
“Action!” Blythe yells in a tone that says, “You’d better not make me say ‘action’ again for this scene.”
Rudolph: Yada yada.
Felicia: “But I don’t remember you.”
I see movement and for some reason I lift my eyes straight ahead to the set—and I take a sharp breath. I can’t help myself. I haven’t seen David Gray since the day his rug rats assaulted me. He’s standing there watching me. Oh, he smiled. It’s all I can do not to smile back.
“Cut.” Oh shoot. “Tabby. That’s perfect. That’s the look.”
Oh. My. Gosh. I’m still staring at David, except his smile is gone—replaced by a sort of questioning frown.
“Okay, we’re going to do it again,” Blythe calls out. “Only look at Trey this time when you give that look. Here we go. Action.”
I don’t know how I make it through the scene, but Blythe seems happy with it.
Laini and Dancy rush me the second I step out of the dressing room looking like me again. “That was fabulous, Tabs,” Laini gushes. “I had no idea you’re such a great actress.”
I won’t even state the obvious that if she watched the show, she’d be aware of my brilliance on a daily basis.
“Okay, I want to talk about that look you gave the stage dad.” Dancy, of course.
“How do you know who he is?”
“So you aren’t denying it?”
Darn. She got me.
Laini pipes up. “We saw the kids. Besides, he introduced himself. So, what’s with the look?”
So they’re both going to hound me for answers.
“I don’t even know the man. He distracted me, that’s all.” I scan the remaining faces. My stomach drops as a high-pitched squeal breaks the sound barrier inside the studio. “David!” My jaw goes slack and my gut clenches as a skinny blond flies into his arms.
“Is that who I think it is?” Dancy asks.
“Yeah,” I reply, not entirely able to mask the disappointment running through me. I mean, what gives Rachel Savage the right to waltz in here just when I’m making a connection with a guy and jump him like she’s married to him or something?
Just as I’m about to turn away and slip outside, I catch a glimpse of the twins running toward their dad and Rachel. “Kids!” she says, stooping with her arms wide as they both dive in for an embrace, nearly knocking her off her four-inch stilettos.
“That would have been priceless,” Laini whispers.
I grin and nod, envisioning Rachel landing flat on her behind. But you know, some people just don’t end up a laughingstock and some do. And that’s the difference between Rachel and me. I’d be picking myself up off the floor right now, while she, on the other hand, is beautiful and confident, exuding maternal warmth and looking very much like the completion of David’s little family.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, unable to spend one more second watching the scene playing out in front of me.
But we don’t even get two feet before Rachel calls from across the room. “Aren’t you going to say hello, Tabby?”
I stop. Feel the challenge, baby.
“Don’t let her get to you,” Dancy says under her breath, and I’m gratified to know I’m not the only person who caught that tone.
I paste a smile on and raise my eyebrows at Laini to ask if it’s good enough.
“Perfect,” she says. “No one would ever guess you want to deck her.”
I turn and face Rachel, who is flanked on either side by my TV children.
“Hi, Rachel,” I say with forced gaiety. “Welcome aboard. I hope you’ll feel right at home.”
Rachel’s smile broadens, and she hugs each twin against her. “I already do.”
“Good.” I smile down at the kids, who have kept their distance from me ever since the mummy incident. “I guess I’ll be seeing you two soon in our scenes.”
They duck into Rachel’s hips. Kids. Why? That’s all I can think of. Why?
David steps up, and I feel the heat scorch my cheeks at the memory of “the look of love.”
“Well, we’d better go,” I say before he can even open his mouth.
“We’re just leaving too,” he says in a sexy, husky voice that I swear I’d think was put on if he was an actor instead of a computer geek.
“Why don’t we all walk out together?” Rachel suggests, her smile wide, but her eyes narrow. Oh, is the size two best bod winner feeling a little threatened?
“Great idea.” I give her a semi-sweet smile. “I always feel a little odd waiting for a cab after dark.”
“Want a lift home?” David asks.
“Oh no. That’s not necessary.” Dancy jabs me in the ribs with her elbow. But I’m not backing down. I have no intention of letting him think I was hinting. Or more to the point, letting Rachel suspect it.
“Well, we’ll at least wait until you can get a cab.”
See, he’s very thoughtful. Perfect boyfriend material. Unlike Brian, who is just annoying—especially since I let him come in and help me with the wardrobe. (Which is big and not exactly right for the apartment.)
We walk outside and a camera flashes.
Rachel huffs. “Goodness, I can’t go anywhere these days without photographers hounding me.”
“You could always wear a wig and dark glasses,” Laini drawls, and Dancy snickers, leaving me to keep my composure.
“Give us a smile, Tabby!” the photographers call out. I could kiss every single lens-stuffed face for making this about me instead of Rachel.
I wave and smile, giving my sexy, one hip forward, skinny pose.
“Thanks, Tabby!”
“Anytime.”
“Miss Savage, can you give us a smile?”
“Why, sure, fellas.” The words are like smooth butter gliding from her lips. She’s going to make the most of this moment.
My heart is just sinking when I feel a shove from behind, knocking me into Rachel.
“Oops,” Dancy says. “Sorry. I stumbled.” Oh! She so did not!
The photographers chuckle, and I can only imagine the kind of shot they got.
“All right, guys,” I call out. “Play nice. You know what that’s going to look like. I got shoved into Rachel.”
“Sorry,” James Iams (like the dog food) says, putting away his camera. “That photo is going to sell for a lot.”
Jerk. I can’t believe I gave that guy my sexy pose.
Rachel gives a half laugh and waves. “It’s all right, boys. Just make sure it’s clear I was the one assaulted by Tabitha and not the other way around.”
“Hey!” I speak up in a knee-jerk reaction. “You know I didn’t do that on purpose.”
“It’s true,” Dancy says. “I bumped her.”
“And I bumped Rachel after my friend bumped me.”
Rachel gives an exaggerated wave. “We believe them, don’t we, boys?” Her giggle puts the last nail in my proverbial coffin. I can just see tomorrow’s soap mag headline… it’ll be Lindsay Lohan and Hillary Duff all over again.
God, will you cover your ears just for a second?
I hate her, hate her, hate her!
Okay, God. You can uncover them now.
God bless Rachel Savage.