On the Edge

  “That was my agent.” Portia’s voice pitched sharper than the knife-pleat in Cora’s short skirt. “Blue’s identified at least six of us. I’ve got to fit in time to tape some kind of Rules of Attraction celebrity relationship rehab or I’m ruined. My fans will be so disappointed. And Cal Lazerus – ”

  “It can’t be as bad as all that.” Portia’s drama. So not worth it in a sphere where notoriety was valued. If she was Portia’s agent, she’d make her cut her hair and plant some sexy rumors about her.

  Portia droned on.

  Cora reached for her phone and texted Jack: Your dick has been replaced.

  “Bitch, pay attention,” Portia snapped.

  Reluctantly, Cora’s mind returned to the conversation at hand.

  “You were just with Blue at the country club. Did he say anything about this?”

  “No. He golfed with his lawyer. I stayed on the driving range.” If Blue had known, wouldn’t he have told her? The first sliver of disappointment pricked her. They were supposed to be close.

  “What did Blue say about the golf balls?”

  “Nothing.”

  Portia frowned, managing to do so without involving her eyebrows, since that might accelerate the development of wrinkles. “If you’re lying to me – ”

  “If I was lying to you I’d have something more to say,” Cora huffed. That was the trouble with having bitches for friends. They were a suspicious lot.

  Portia narrowed her expertly made-up eyes. “I could tell Blue you’ve been providing us with his keys and the down low on where he’s going to be.”

  “Careful. I’m the hand that feeds you.”

  Portia sealed her lips, while the waiter put down their plates. “You really didn’t tell him, did you?”

  “This conversation is boring me.”

  “Maybe we can use this to our advantage.” Portia smiled the way she did when she had an idea for revenge against Blue. The more pranks the Avengers pulled on her brother, the more Cora resented that smile. “And I know how we can. You’re my best friend, ever.”

  Cora was afraid if Portia and the Avengers kept up their antics, she and Portia wouldn’t be best friends much longer.

  “Ask Blue how he found out.”

  “No.” Sometimes Portia wasn’t the smartest bitch in the powder room. “He never talks about the Avengers. I have to wait for him to tell me, otherwise, he’ll suspect something’s up.”

  “Oh, good point.” Portia flashed her million dollar smile. “What would I do without you?”

  Cora shrugged, glancing at Cal and hoping she’d never find out.

  There was no silver lining.

  Long after the inland valley sunshine had warmed his face, Blue gazed out his office window at the stubborn coastal fog bank. His self-respect hadn’t been this battered since he was a kid. Maybe everything he knew about women amounted to what he knew of carburetors and the stock market.

  Nothing.

  Women were wired for long-term relationships. Blue was wired for short-term fun. It didn’t matter that he understood their hopes, insecurities, and desires. His intense, brief affairs hadn’t been without emotional consequences. His exes were wounded, even though he’d never made them a promise or talked about the future. How had that happened? Amber had seen this coming months ago. Blue hadn’t wanted to.

  Like Cora, Blue had resented Amber when they were kids, mostly because their father seemed to be spending more and more time with her, and less and less with him. As a pre-teen, he ignored Amber in school and whenever they were at Dooley’s home together for visitation. But Amber was an easy target. And not just for Blue and Cora.

  Amber was a year ahead of Blue in school. In junior high, Amber’s body changed quickly from a girl with a little too much flesh to something with the promise of Marilyn Monroe’s curves. In Beverly Hills, if you had any physical imperfection or a parent who wasn’t beautiful, über successful, or cool, you were fair game. Amber struck out on all counts.

  One day, when Dooley picked them up after school, Amber snapped on her seat belt and burst into tears. She didn’t say a word, probably couldn’t float a word past her flood of tears. By nature she wasn’t a complainer or tattler. But Blue knew why she was upset.

  He’d been coming out of gym class while Amber was heading in. Eighth grade boys circled her like hyenas, poking and laughing and making crude remarks. Their hazing made him sick to his stomach, but what could he do? He was just a puny seventh grader.

  It was Blue who told his father what happened. Dooley was livid, but not, it seemed, at the boys at school. He was angry at Blue for not defending his half-sister.

  Blue was locked in the media room. When Dooley finally opened the door, four huge men in football jerseys filed inside. They surrounded Blue and began to take pokes at him with their big fists, calling him names. Blue was scared shitless.

  Dooley sat on a stool at the bar, drinking a beer, not watching, not saying a word.

  “Dad, help me.” Blue felt weak and pitiful.

  “Stop.” One word from Dooley, and the men left.

  Blue started to cry, big choking sobs as wracking as Amber’s had been in the car.

  Dooley took a swig of his beer, as if he needed fortification before facing his son. “I wanted you to know how it felt to be in Amber’s shoes. Family sticks together. Stopping a bully doesn’t take much more than a word or two.”

  Blue blinked back to the present and withdrew an envelope from his laptop bag. He’d been given the missive at the reading of his father’s will three months ago.

  Dear Blue,

  You and I have learned some hard lessons together. When I think of you, I think proudly of the man you’ve become. You always stand up for what’s right.

  This confounded Blue every time he read it. He was no saint, a fact made clearer to him by the Avengers. Had his father truly believed Blue always did the right thing? Or had that been the medication talking, easing Dooley’s pain in the final days of his life?

  The days ahead won’t be easy. I’ve made mistakes, but I think I know how to put things right. I’m asking you, son, to do the right thing and watch out for your siblings by working at the Dooley Foundation with them.

  The right thing? What the hell did his father know about the right thing, especially when it came to family? Dooley always put his crazy whims, his clients, and especially his latest girlfriends above his children. Case in point:

  I’ve also left you my dog, which you will take everywhere until you meet your Foundation sales quota. Yes, everywhere. Yes, it’s part of the stipulation of my will. I know you don’t like attachments, but this dog is different.

  About that, at least, he’d been right.

  I know I wasn’t always the father you wanted, but I hope you’ll come to recall me with fondness.

  With all my love, Dad.

  His father’s brand of tough love threatened to overwhelm, leaving a bitter taste in Blue’s mouth, rather than the peaceful forgiveness his father seemed to be asking for. Maybe he’d be more open to Dooley’s attempt to reconcile if it hadn’t come with conditions. Or if he’d said goodbye in person, instead of hiding his diagnosis and keeping his children away at the end.

  Blue’s fingers cramped against the urge to crumple the letter. Instead, he carefully folded it and returned it to his laptop bag.

  He wanted to go back in time, back to when his father was the source of media attention, when Blue had been just another guy in a Hollywood P.R. department dating women who considered his position one of power and influence. But longing wouldn’t erase the dating mistakes he’d made that led to the creation of the Playboy Avengers. Longing wasn’t going to earn him millions. Longing wasn’t going to get him out of this mess without publicly airing his sexual laundry.

  No. According to Amber, his savior was Maddy Polk and a very public atonement.

  He’d made some calls. Maddy swam around the edge of the producer’s pool. But she’d never been given the opportuni
ty to take a dive off the tall platform or save a project in the deep end.

  And Blue didn’t relish drowning. In fact, he didn’t relish any situation where people knew his business, past or present. If he had any other option, he’d bail on Maddy.

  “We don’t take walk-ins.” Gemma, their less than ideal receptionist, snapped at someone in the lobby.

  “He’ll want to see me.” The voice, both nasal and pompous, struck a chord of annoyance in Blue. “I’m Dave Niles.”

  That name. Blue had heard it before.

  “Call this number and make an appointment.” Gemma should have worked at a Hollywood studio. No one could get by her.

  And then Blue realized why the man’s name was familiar. When he’d researched Maddy’s credentials, he’d noticed she used to have a creative partner – Dave Niles.

  What the hell did Dave want with him?

  Curious, he was drawn to see what kind of man Maddy used to work with.

  “Aha,” Dave said to Gemma when Blue appeared in the doorway of his office. “He’ll see me now.”

  If prizes were awarded for positive first impressions, Dave would get the booby-prize. Short, youth giving way to paunch. Jeans that drooped where he had no butt. The guy should have been sporting a pocket protector. The look he was living wasn’t Leader, it was Loser.

  Blue regretted getting out of his chair.

  Dave crossed the plush Oriental rug, smiling with his hand extended as if they were sealing the deal of a lifetime. Maddy had a firmer handshake than he did, with a lot less sweat. “I hope I’m not too late.”

  Blue raised an eyebrow.

  “I know Maddy pitched something to you about – ”

  Blue grabbed the geek’s arm and swung him through the doorway, closing the door behind him.

  “Hey!” Dave stumbled behind a guest chair, oblivious to Mr. Jiggles sleeping in his bed a few feet away.

  Mr. J gave a few tentative sniffs in Dave’s direction, decided his cheap sneakers weren’t worth the effort, and curled back into his pink self.

  Blue’s worst fears were coming to life. A total stranger knew he was the Avenger’s playboy.

  Shit-shit-shit.

  With effort, Blue kept from reaching out and grabbing the filmmaker by his collar. “How did you know about Maddy’s pitch?” Had she told him? Had the Avengers leaked something? “Who else knows?”

  “Maddy registered a pitch featuring the Playboy Avengers. I figured out it was you.” Dave made the pronouncement proudly, as if he’d been smart enough to work it through.

  Blue didn’t believe him. Someone had talked. He closed the distance between them, intending to shake the truth out of him.

  “But Maddy’s going about this all wrong. Why would you deal with the Avengers? Why would you try and make them happy when they’re making your life miserable?”

  Finally, the voice of reason.

  Blue planted his feet and reassessed Dave.

  “Women are always irrational when you confront them.” Dave beamed.

  The air seemed to shimmer in one of those Twilight Zone moments: Am I going to take advice about women from this guy?

  “In fact…” Dave warmed to his topic. “Why not burst their bubble? You don’t seem like the kind of guy who’d incite such extreme measures in a woman. We could play the trustworthy angle.”

  Interested, despite himself, Blue crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you selling?”

  “I’m pitching a documentary to you.”

  He resisted grinding his teeth. “No more film. We already have a development deal in the works.”

  Thank you, Amber.

  “A development deal for a reality show. I’m offering you an alternative.” Dave must think of himself as slick and handsome – his words were that confident. Reality was, he stood awkwardly, backed into a corner. “You were in public relations. You know the value of a well-timed press release, especially videos. I’m suggesting we shoot a quick documentary showing the good works of Blue Rule from the Dooley Foundation. We’ll film you volunteering at the humane society, donating your time to a soup kitchen, taking food bank donations to halfway houses.” He created a virtual camera with his fingers, a rectangle anchored by the thumb of one hand touching the forefinger of the other. “We shore up the defenses of what’s been a golden boy image. We release it as Dooley Foundation P.R. before the Avengers name you. That way, no one will believe the Avengers. Or at the very least, we can create credible doubt.”

  It was the answer to Blue’s prayers. He wouldn’t have to compromise his principles and use the Rules of Attraction to fix his exes. “But what about Maddy’s project? We signed a contract.”

  “Contracts don’t preclude you from pursuing other deals at the same time. We can film this quickly with a minimal crew. Her process takes longer – film, edit, take a reel to several different studios. You could be looking at months. I’m offering you a quick answer to your problem – a week, ten days, two weeks, tops. Timing depends on how quickly we can get you on the good works circuit.” Perhaps sensing Blue was caving, Dave picked up the print of his father’s artwork, and turned it around. He recoiled. “Whoa. That ought to come with a warning.” He returned it to its face against the wall position.

  “Yeah, it’s really bad.” Blue regretted even having it in his office.

  Dave beamed some more. The guy was annoying. There was just something about him that said: don’t trust me.

  But Blue liked what he was selling. “So this isn’t going to be shopped around to studios?”

  “Distribution will be through the Dooley Foundation website and, perhaps, a YouTube channel.”

  “What’s in it for you?”

  His laugh grated on Blue’s nerves. “Money, of course. And exposure.”

  The odd sense that he should show Dave the door returned. “Do you have samples of your work?”

  “Of course.” He produced an iPhone. “Would you like to see the mating rituals of the Malaysian Trumpet Snail? Or a day in the life of a yarn bomber? Both exhibit fine cinematography, sound, and editing.”

  “They sound riveting.” Not. “Send me the links.” Really, how hard could it be to make a decent documentary-style video? He didn’t need to see anything.

  In theory, he’d be going behind Amber’s back if he made this documentary. But only in theory. Maddy’s project would still be moving forward, but if Blue’s efforts were successful, the need for a reality show would be negated.

  It was the perfect solution to his tangled mess of a life and he refused to acknowledge one iota of guilt.

  L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln

  …OMG! Someone says the Playboy Avenger is taking a stand against his accusers. That boy either has a pair of cajones to die for or he’s incredibly naïve.

  …Did you see the celebrity golf tournament this weekend? That hottie Xavier Sentata from Argentina nearly took home the trophy, until he bogied at the sixteenth hole. And the seventeenth. And the eighteenth. Ladies, he’s in town and he needs some comforting.

  Chapter 9

  Maddy practically danced into the Dooley Foundation Tuesday morning. Blue’s lawyer had called with approval on their end. She’d given him the names of the Avengers she knew and he’d promised to have them show up for preliminary filming next Tuesday. It was the first time in her life she’d been happy to have interaction with a lawyer.

  “I’m here to check out space for filming,” she told the young receptionist, who had wild, dark hair, trendy rectangular glasses, and a smirk. All of which seemed totally at odds with the muted green, bamboo accented, spa-like feel of the Foundation offices.

  Then again, Dooley, himself, would clash with the décor.

  “We don’t allow media inside.” The receptionist, Gemma according to her nameplate, returned her attention to what looked like a thick business law book and a yellow highlighter.

  Tamping down the beginnings of annoyance, Maddy infused her voice with cheer, accented with a big
ger smile. “Blue knows I’m coming. Can you check with him?”

  Gemma clomped to her feet, which were encased in Army boots, leaned over the counter, and abandoned propriety to shout, “Blue. Someone to see you.”

  “Gemma, how many times do I have to tell you to treat me with the same respect you treat Amber?” The question came from the second office down. Blue sounded as annoyed by Gemma as he’d been by Maddy during her pitch.

  “Every day.” Gemma dropped back into her chair, huffing in disgust.

  This was definitely not the work environment she’d expect from the Dooley Foundation. People who worked here were supposed to be happy and well-adjusted, and enjoy working with each other.

  Frowning, Blue stepped into the hallway, frowning deeper when he saw Maddy. “Oh, it’s only you.”

  All that sex appeal and so little charm. Such a waste.

  “Nice to see you again, too. I need to use your offices to shoot. I want to bring in the – ” She’d been about to say Avengers, but caught herself in case Gemma hadn’t been clued in. “…Girls for some initial filming.” The sooner she rolled film, the sooner she could edit it into something that would sizzle.

  “I am not coordinating some cattle call for a Foundation video,” Gemma said, confirming Maddy’s suspicions about the joy of working here. “I have summer mid-terms Friday.”

  “Really?” Maddy continued to make an effort to be nice. “What are you studying?”

  “Business at UCLA.”

  “Don’t let her fool you. She’s studying labor relations. Why else would she always be complaining about working conditions?” Blue came to stand next to her, towering over Maddy, until she breathed in his cologne and hormone-prickling sex appeal. “This is a business, Maddy. You can’t just walk in and expect to take over.”

  Reminding herself that Poppa Bert’s albums were at stake, Maddy clenched her thighs against unwelcome sexual attraction. “Did you sign the talent contract your lawyer approved?”

  Blue sighed. “Yes.”