Viveca got home, mixed herself a martini, and flopped onto a deck chair on the veranda.
Bruce padded out in a bathing suit and T-shirt. He looked happy. Viveca felt horribly conflicted, what with Manny getting killed, and her producer a prime suspect. Had Billy Barnett done it, to stop him from spreading lies about Tessa? If he had, it was all her fault.
Damn the Oscars. If the award hadn’t pitted Tessa against her, everything would be fine. Manny would be alive, and Viveca would be swept up in filming her exciting new picture.
Then Viveca realized that no, she wouldn’t. She’d only taken the part in the film in order to undermine Tessa. Now that they’d become friends, her plans had all gone to hell. And yet . . . the lure of the Oscar was still undeniable. The recognition, the respect. If she were honest with herself, Viveca knew she’d be devastated to lose, even to a friend.
“’S’matter?” Bruce said. It was one of his favorite contractions. Viveca usually found it cute. Now it just irritated her.
She didn’t know what to tell him. Certainly not the truth. Bruce had enough trouble with straightforward concepts, but her convoluted mixed feelings were beyond his scope.
“Just worried about the Oscars.”
Bruce flopped down in a deck chair. “You’re going to win.”
“I might win.”
“You will. You were great.”
“Tessa was great, too.”
“Tessa was okay.”
“You saw the movie?”
“Everyone saw the movie.”
Viveca frowned. It was the wrong thing to say, but Bruce didn’t know he was being unconsciously gauche.
“She won’t win,” he said.
Lately it was his go-to answer for everything. He didn’t realize how grating it was for her to hear it.
“If she wins, she wins. I don’t mean to be a poor sport. I just can’t stand the idea of sitting there, keeping a smile on my face for the cameras while I listen to her acceptance speech.”
“You won’t have to.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll stop her.”
“How?”
“I’ll run up the steps and tackle her.”
Viveca smiled at the thought. She shook her head. “No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will. And that’s all they’ll write about. How the wrong person got the award.”
“You’re not going to do that.” Viveca looked Bruce in the eyes.
“Yes, I am.”
Viveca took a breath. “Promise me you’re not going to do that.”
That caught him up short. Promise me was Viveca’s safe word, the line he could not cross. When she asked him to promise her something, he knew better than to break that promise.
“I promise. I won’t do that.”
“Good.”
“But she’s not making that speech, I promise you that.”
Viveca smiled. That was also Bruce’s MO. When she made him promise something, he always promised something else he would do instead. Usually nothing came of it. She did what she always did, accepted his promise without argument and moved on, hoping it would be quickly forgotten.
Viveca’s martini was empty. She smiled at Bruce, got up from the deck chair, and went to make herself another.
Bruce leaned back in his deck chair and thought. This time he had not made an idle declaration. He had a very definite goal in mind, one that was in keeping with his military training and would allow him to keep his promise to Viveca.
If she won, Tessa would not be giving her speech.
Smiling, Bruce heaved himself out of the deck chair and dove into the pool.
He swam laps, and laid his plans.