What I Did for Love

  They left the house for a midmorning coffee run and photo op. She decided the best way to restore a sense of normalcy was to pick a fight. “Stop humming.” She scowled at him across the passenger seat. “You only think you can carry a tune.”

  “What’s eating you? Not me, unfortunately.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “Hey, what happened to your famous sense of humor?”

  “You.”

  “I guess that’d do it.” He started humming a few bars of “It’s the Hard-knock Life” just to provoke her. “You were a lot friendlier yesterday afternoon. A lot.”

  “That was lust, pal. I was using you.”

  “And doing a damn fine job of it.”

  She didn’t like the way he refused to join her in the fight she needed to have with him. “You shouldn’t have said you remembered what happened that night in Vegas when you really didn’t.”

  “Process of elimination. I guarantee that one of us passed out before the deed was done, because if we’d finished up, I’d have remembered.”

  For once, she was inclined to believe him.

  The paps surrounded them when they emerged from The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. Georgie thought about the zillions of photos she’d seen of celebs carrying either coffee cups or water bottles. Since when had dehydration become an occupational hazard of fame?

  “Right here! Look here!”

  “Any plans for the weekend?”

  “Are you guys still solid?”

  “Like a rock.” Bram tightened his arm around her waist and whispered, “If you were really as tough as you pretend to be, you wouldn’t have run off to your nice safe bed last night.”

  She beamed up at him. “I told you. I got my period.”

  He beamed down at her. “And I told you I didn’t give a damn.”

  Lance had given a damn. He’d been nice about it, but sex with a menstruating woman wasn’t his thing. Not that she’d really gotten her period.

  “Obviously I haven’t made myself clear,” she whispered, playing the role of the female sexual predator as shutters clicked around them. “You passed your audition yesterday at Provocative. From now on, your only function is to service me. When and where I want it. And I don’t want it right now.”

  Liar. She wanted it all right, and she wanted it with him. Yesterday’s experience had been so incredible specifically because she’d been with gorgeous, useless, depraved Bram Shepard. Sex didn’t mean anything more to him than a handshake, and knowing that gave her an exciting new freedom. Her fake—and possibly alcoholic—husband could never have the hold over her Lance had possessed. With Bram, she wouldn’t stew over whether a negligee was alluring enough to attract him or feel as if she needed to read the latest sex manual to keep him interested. Who cared? She might not even shave her legs.

  He kissed the top of her ear. “Just so we’re straight, Scoot. You didn’t get your period. You chickened out because you’re afraid you can’t handle me.”

  “Not true.”

  He gave a final wave to the photographers and began steering her toward the street, still speaking so only she could hear. “The thing about these restrictions you keep trying to set up…” He brushed his knuckles down her spine. “I’m not going to pay attention to any of them.”

  Bram loved messing with Georgie—mentally and physically. She’d shocked the hell out of him yesterday. In his mind, Georgie and Scooter had always been pretty much the same person, but no way in hell would Scooter have put on a show like that. What had happened at Provocative proved the Loser hadn’t managed to whip all the self-confidence out of her, something that had become increasingly evident in the past few weeks. The fact that Lance had traded Georgie in for a cold fish like Jade gave Bram a lot more pleasure than it should.

  As they returned from their coffee run, he toyed with the idea of getting her naked right away—it wouldn’t take much effort—but Aaron ruined his plans by meeting them at the door.

  “Rory Keene’s secretary called. You’re invited to her house for a glass of wine at five.”

  Bram did a mental high jump. He’d been hoping Rory’s affection for Georgie would translate into an opportunity for a face-to-face meeting so he could state his case personally, instead of through her people. He grinned and jiggled his car keys. “Call her back and tell her we’ll be there.”

  Aaron pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “She didn’t mention anything about you, Bram. Just Georgie.”

  Bram tightened his hand around his keys. “She meant both of us.”

  “I don’t think so. She said to tell Georgie not to get dressed up because it would be just the two of them.” Aaron beat a hasty retreat.

  Bram let loose with a string of obscenities. Rory was still stone-walling him. She loved the Tree House script, but according to her V.P. in development, she wouldn’t consider backing the film unless he stepped aside as producer and lead actor, which would defeat the goal of restarting his career. Sometimes he thought he should buy an ad in Variety and announce to the world that he wasn’t the same feral kid who didn’t have enough character to survive his success. Or maybe a simpler message…How about a fucking second chance?

  If only Rory would meet with him personally, but the closest he’d been able to get was during the nighttime incident in her backyard. He’d even slipped through the rear gate with a bottle of Cristal a few days later as an apology for having woken her up, but one of her lackeys had taken the champagne from him and shut the door.

  He glared down at Georgie. Thanks to Chaz’s cooking, she’d gained enough weight so those big green eyes peeping at him through a fringe of bangs had lost their sunken appearance, and her shiny brown hair curved around fuller cheeks. “I want you in my office in ten minutes.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell, but he was ready for her. “Unless you aren’t interested in seeing the script for Tree House…”

  He knew he had her, and he walked away without looking back.

  She kept him waiting ten minutes longer than he expected. She hadn’t used the time to change her clothes, and she still wore the outfit from their paparazzi coffee run: a bright lemon knit top with a modestly curved round neck, a tiny cropped cardigan as insubstantial as a spiderweb, and wide-cut green-and-cream mattress-ticking slacks only someone so slender could carry off. The outfit concealed far more than it revealed, which made it sexy as hell.

  She made the first move in this new game they were playing by tilting her head toward the poster of Jake Koranda playing Bird Dog Caliber. “Now there’s a real man.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell him you said so.” He squeezed a rubber exercise ball in his fist, channeling Humphrey Bogart in The Caine Mutiny. “I need a little cooperation for a change.”

  She looked wounded. “What do you mean, ‘for a change.’ I’m always cooperative.” She plopped down on his couch. “Okay, mainly cooperative with other people, but still…”

  “Stop screwing around and listen.” He curled the ball in his palm and pointed his index finger at her nose. “Don’t sabotage me with Rory Keene.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Wouldn’t you? Rory loves everything about the Tree House project except…”

  “You?” She widened those gum ball green eyes. “It’s because you have a bad reputation.”

  “Thanks for pointing that out.” He set the ball on his desk. “I have to make this film, Georgie. Me and nobody else. You need to convince her I’ve turned into Husband of the Year.”

  “You haven’t.”

  “Pretend.”

  “You’re asking me for help?” Again the big-eyed Orphan Annie thing, but Georgie had always been a team player, and he figured she’d help him…after she gave him a hard time.

  She put a finger to her cheek. “If I suck up to Rory for you, what do I get in return?”

  “Hot sex and my undying gratitude.”

  She pretended to think it over. “Nope. Not good enough.”
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  “I’ll let Meg stay in the guesthouse.”

  “Meg’s already staying in the guesthouse.”

  “Let me put it another way. I won’t hit on her while she’s staying in the guesthouse.”

  “You won’t hit on her anyway. You treat her like she’s twelve.” She finally got down to business. “I want to read the script before I meet Rory this afternoon. Hand it over.”

  “I told you I’d let you see it.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t tell me you’d let me read it.”

  “You noticed that.”

  She held out her hand.

  He hesitated. “You don’t exactly have the best judgment when it comes to scripts. You’re the one who made Summer in the City.”

  “Pretty People, too, another stinker. And Cake Walk, which you haven’t seen yet, and which I recommend you don’t.” She wiggled her hand at him. “That’s all in the past. You’re looking at a whole new Georgie York. Give it up.”

  She was no longer the pushover she’d once been, so he didn’t have much choice. He pulled the bound script from his middle desk drawer, the one she’d searched three weeks ago only to find a broken telephone. She snatched it from him before he could change his mind, gave him a cheery wave, and left.

  He hated asking anybody for help, especially Georgie, and he slumped in his chair to brood. When that got him nowhere, he turned back to his computer. As good as the script had been, it still needed work, and he’d been tinkering with one scene or another from the beginning. He could imagine what Georgie would say if she learned that a high school dropout was monkeying around with Sarah Carter’s words. Or…even worse, how she’d laugh if she discovered he’d finished a script of his own.

  Except she wouldn’t laugh. Unlike him, she didn’t have a cruel bone in her body, and he could even imagine her mustering up a few well-intentioned words of encouragement.

  The idea stuck in his craw. He didn’t need phony encouragement from anybody, especially Georgie. He’d raised himself, screwed up his life by himself, and now he was digging out the same way. By himself.

  Georgie couldn’t read fast enough, and she finished the script in two hours. It was just as amazing as the book. An incredible opportunity…and not only for Bram.

  Tree House told the story of Danny Grimes, a man who’d been falsely imprisoned for sexually abusing a child. Released on a technicality, he’s forced by his father’s terminal illness to return home and face both the town and the ruthless female prosecutor, now a state senator, who hid DNA evidence to ensure his conviction. Danny’s self-imposed isolation is threatened by his suspicions that the child next door is being abused by her father. The script was powerful and heart wrenching, filled with fascinating and complex characters, none of whom were exactly what they seemed to be.

  She found Bram swimming laps in the pool. She stood on the edge near the waterfall and shifted impatiently from one leg to the other, waiting for him to stop. He saw her, but he continued cutting through the water. She picked up the leaf skimmer and whapped him on the head.

  “Hey!” Water flew as he spun around.

  She took a deep breath. “I want to play Helene.”

  “Good luck with that.” He dove under and swam for the ladder on the opposite side of the pool.

  She dropped the leaf skimmer, her heart thumping with excitement. By the time she’d finished the first scene, she’d known she had to play the coldly ambitious prosecutor. This was exactly the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Playing Helene would cut through years of typecasting and give her the challenge she so desperately wanted. She strode toward the ladder. “The script is brilliant. Bone chilling, intricate, thoughtful. Everything you said it was. I have to play Helene. I mean it.”

  Water sluiced down his body as he climbed out of the pool. “In case you haven’t been paying attention, I’m having a small problem getting the movie financed, so casting Helene is the last thing on my mind.”

  She grabbed his towel and handed it over. “But if you do get a green light…The only reason no one ever thinks of me as a dramatic actress is because I’ve never gotten a chance to show what I can do. And don’t tell me audiences wouldn’t be able to get past the two of us in Skip and Scooter. The love story is between Danny and the home nurse, not with Helene. I know exactly how to do that part. And I’ll work for scale.”

  “Bottom line, Georgie, if I can get this film made, you still won’t be playing Helene.” He rubbed the towel over his head, then draped it around his neck. “Considering my own recent lackluster career, this film needs an actress with a proven record at the box office, and let’s face it, your face sells a lot more tabloids than movie tickets.”

  She refused to concede his point. “Think of the publicity value of the two of us doing a film together. Audiences will line up to see if we can pull it off.”

  “We can’t.” He dropped the towel on the chair. “Georgie, this whole discussion is beyond premature.”

  “You think I can’t play a complicated character? You can do it, but I can’t? You’re so wrong. I have the discipline and focus to pull it off.”

  “Meaning you think I don’t.”

  She didn’t want to flat out insult him, but truth was truth. “You can’t rely on tricks to play Danny. He’s bitter and tortured. He’s endured something no one should ever have to go through.”

  “I’ve lived with this material for over a year,” he shot back. “I know exactly what makes him tick. Now instead of arguing, why don’t you use your brain to figure out how you’re going to convince Rory Keene that I’m a solid Hollywood citizen and that she needs to meet with me?”

  Georgie used the rear gate. Rory’s white brick French Normandy mansion was grander than Bram’s home, but not nearly as welcoming. From the back, sweeping terraces overlooked the pool and formal gardens. Rory sat in the shade of the side terrace on a black wrought-iron couch covered with bright tangerine cushions. With her long blond hair pulled into a ponytail and her legs curled beneath her, Rory should have looked like a soccer mom, but she didn’t. Even in such an informal setting she projected the cool, intimidating confidence of a formidable studio executive.

  She pushed aside the script she’d been reading and offered Georgie a glass of champagne. Now that Bram wasn’t the only person with something at stake, Georgie fought to keep her nervousness under control as she accepted the drink and settled into an adjacent chair. They discussed last weekend’s box-office receipts and the success of a new Jack Black film. Finally, Rory got down to the reason for her invitation.

  “Georgie, this is a bit awkward…” Her steady gaze indicated awkwardness didn’t bother her much. “Ever since those awful photos came out, I’ve been telling myself to mind my own business, but I can’t do it. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

  Georgie hadn’t expected this, and she was embarrassed. The worst of the tabloid gossip might be fading, but obviously Rory wasn’t so easily convinced. “Don’t give it another thought. Really. Everything’s fine. Now tell me about the house. I was surprised to hear you’re leasing.”

  Rory took a sip of champagne, then set her flute on the table next to her. “The studio leases it. It’s our version of the White House. I have my private quarters, but we keep a separate wing for special guests—corporate VIPs, directors, producers, whomever we want to court. Right now we’re hosting some incredibly talented international filmmakers—part of a project I’m spearheading.”

  “I’m sure they’re flattered to be invited to stay here.”

  “A special staff takes care of them. I don’t have to entertain anyone I don’t want to.” Rory uncrossed her legs and once again turned the full force of her iceberg eyes on Georgie. “If you ever feel…uncomfortable, as if you need to get away quickly, you can come over here anytime, night or day.”

  Georgie didn’t know which she hated more—the idea that Rory thought Bram was a wife batterer or her belief that Georgie had so little self-regard sh
e’d allow herself to be abused. “Those photos were deceptive, Rory. I know it looked like we were having a fight, but we weren’t. Honestly. Bram would never hurt me. Drive me crazy, yes. But physically hurt me, never.”

  “Women don’t always think straight where men like Bram Shepard are concerned,” Rory said. “And after what you went through with Lance…”

  “I’m touched by your concern. Truly. But it’s unnecessary.” Georgie couldn’t let this go. “You’ve…tried to look out for me before. I’m grateful, but I can’t help wondering why.”

  “You don’t remember what you did for me, do you?”

  “I’m hoping I loaned you a gorgeous pair of diamond earrings you’re about to return?”

  Rory smiled her snow-goddess smile. “No such luck.” She picked up her champagne flute and twisted the stem. “When I worked on Skip and Scooter, you were always good to the crew.”

  Georgie had never understood the logic of stars who made life miserable for the people whose job it was to make them look good. Besides, her father wouldn’t have tolerated diva behavior. Still, being courteous to the crew didn’t seem like a good enough reason for Rory to keep extending herself.

  “I also like seeing decent people succeed.” Rory took another sip.

  Georgie didn’t feel like much of a success right now. “You were the best production assistant the show ever had. I was sorry you only stayed one season.”

  “It was a hard show to work. A lot of testosterone.”

  Georgie remembered the way she’d teased Bram about having given Rory a hard time, but now it didn’t seem so amusing. “Bram hit on you, didn’t he?”

  “Daily.” She tugged absentmindedly on a diamond stud earring. “But his friends were the real problem.”