She giggled again.
Movement at the window caught my eye. I glanced out just in time to see a head bob past. A buzzed-cut head. I leaned farther and saw Buzz pull out a cell phone as he ducked around the corner of the house.
My nosiness got the better of me. "I'll be right back."
"No!"
"No?"
"Not until you promise me!"
"Promise what?"
"That you'll go shopping with me, chérie!" She burst into all-out laughter as she poured another finger of tequila. I couldn't help but laugh with her. My mother was a fun drunk. "To buy a nice bag, so you don't look like a hag!"
"All right. Just don't be a nag." I didn't say I promised. I rarely broke my promises.
She doubled over with laughter. "Bag, hag, nag!"
I left as she poured her shot glass to the rim again.
I stepped into the laundry room, slowly pulled open the back door, which was actually a side door, since it opened into the side yard facing Mr. Cabrera's house. I stuck my head out, but all I could hear was a hollow sounding "Ants Marching."
Creeping out, I went right, toward the backyard. Probably Buzz was calling home, checking on his family, making sure they were being moral. But something about the way he snuck away made me suspicious.
All my day lilies had begun to wilt, but my pansies still looked decent. Soon I'd be spending a whole weekend out here, pulling things up, getting everything ready for winter.
At the back corner of the house I paused. I heard Buzz say, " . . . not comfortable, nice people." After a second, he added, "I know I'm not getting paid to be comfortable."
Paid?
"Miz Quinn!"
I jumped, banging my elbow against the brick facade of the house. I lurched toward Mr. Cabrera, pulling him toward the front yard. I looked back over my shoulder. No sign that Buzz had seen me snooping.
"Is Celeste okay?" he asked. "She keeps talking about Louis Vuitton and Chanel, the Wicked Witch of the West, and you."
"Bags and hags and nags," I said.
He raised a bushy eyebrow at me.
"Don't ask."
Today he wore a bright blue button-down with leaping dolphins, jeans, and those funny slip-on shoes that looked like something Aquaman would wear. "Have something to do with your hair?"
"Kinda."
"Well, I don't like it."
"Bags, hags, or nags?"
"Your hair! What's the deal, girlie? You can't just go and change without a word of warnin' to anyone."
Now I arched my eyebrow.
"First it's the hair, then it's the parties on the front lawn, what's next?" He harrumphed, crossed his arms, looked altogether put out. "Married and movin' away?"
I was about to debate the party comment, since it hadn't been my idea, but the look on his face stopped me. Mr. Cabrera puffed out his chest and his jaw jutted stubbornly, but his blue eyes were sad.
I saw through to the heart of his bravado. "Awww, I'm not going anywhere."
He huffed. "Never said you were."
I smiled. "Even if Bobby and I did get married, I wouldn't move, Mr. Cabrera. We'd live here."
"Hmmph." He stomped away—or tried to. His limp made it difficult. I couldn't help but notice the smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
Right about the time I noticed Brickhouse Krauss come out of the house across the street and shake the Realtor's hand.
Talk about wicked witches.
I spotted Riley doing a tango with Mrs. Greeble. He looked mortified. Mr. Cabrera cut in and Riley took off, jumping into Kevin's pickup. They slowly pulled away from the curve, Kevin giving me a nod as they passed. Riley didn't so much as look in my direction.
Sometimes I wondered why I loved that boy so much.
My cell rang. Madonna went quiet as I answered.
"Nina, it's Josh Drake. You called?"
"Josh, hi. I was hoping you could put me in touch with Jessica."
"Why?"
"I'd like to talk to her, get more details about the harassment." Searching for a quiet spot, I sat down on Mr. Cabrera's front steps. To block out noise, I covered my free ear with my hand.
"I don't think that's necessary, Nina."
"I'd like to know just how Willie came on to her, where, when. If anyone was around. If Thad's ever made a pass. What she might have seen around the set."
"All unnecessary."
My hackles went up. "Why's that?"
"I need your impression of the goings on at Hitched or Ditched. Not your impressions of Jessica's impressions."
It took me a second to decipher the double talk. "It would help me be more aware."
"It's not going to happen. Jessica is unreachable, doing a calendar shoot in Mexico. She won't be back until late tonight. Besides, this matter is probably all moot."
"How so?"
"Can't discuss it, but there's a settlement in the works."
"So Bobby and I are on the show, why?"
"Well, to find out if you should get hitched. Or ditched." He laughed and hung up.
I called him a few choice words, something the old me would have done too. There were some things I just wasn't ready to let go.
Eleven
Ana held up a pretend microphone and gleefully asked, "Which best describes Bobby's experience in the kitchen? Lukewarm, simmering, or boiling hot, hot, hot?"
I poured a glass of ice water. The studio had provided a little buffet table with cheese, crackers, fruit, and refreshments. Little did Ana know about the time Bobby and I had tried our hand at cooking together . . .
It was definitely in the scorching range.
"Stop," I said to her, taking a sip of the water, hoping for a cool down.
"Come on. These are questions that could be asked."
I prayed she was wrong. Questions like that tended to remind me of all I was resisting.
My stomach rolled. Maybe I should have eaten. Yeah, it had to be lack of food. Not the reminder that I'd made a horrible mistake letting Bobby move away. I grabbed a cracker, popped it into my mouth.
"Where is he, by the way?"
I spoke around the cracker. "Who?"
"Bobby!"
"Oh, I don't know." He wasn't there. I knew that imme diately when I walked into the studio. That sizzle wasn't in
the air. The zip, the zing I felt whenever he was around.
"What kind of fiancée are you?"
I gave her the evil eye. She laughed.
"Where's Carson?" I asked.
Ana adjusted the spaghetti strap of her barely there satin tank top. "Interviewing the production assistant," she said, pointing.
Ah. Louisa. The one who had the hots for Bobby.
I hated her, and didn't care that I did. The old me would have cared. The new me was making progress already.
I stabbed a cube of cheddar with a toothpick, popped it into my mouth, chewed and swallowed. "Where are you two going later?"
"Down to All Shook Up, the martini bar?"
How could I forget? I'd had an interesting experience there with Elvis impersonators.
"Then," she smiled, "who knows?" Her perfectly shaped eyebrows waggled.
"Oh, I think you know."
"I hope I know." She bit into a strawberry.
The set was still dark, and I'd yet to see Thad or Willie or even Genevieve. I didn't expect to see Sherry tonight, but who knew? Perry and Mario were also MIA, but it was early yet. Ambient light cast an eerie glow as we stood around, waiting for things to get under way.
The Channel 18 cameraman lowered his camera as Carson and Louisa shook hands and headed our way. Carson put his arm around Ana's shoulder, kissed her cheek. She looked up at him with adoration.
Yuck.
Louisa said, "Is Bobby not here yet?"
I wondered how she'd like a toothpick to the eye. "Not yet," I managed to say rather sweetly. But couldn't help adding, "He was still in the shower when I left."
I was right proud of my lie until she
said, "You didn't drive together?"
Damn. I really hated her.
Ana tore her gaze away from Carson. "Separate cars. They aren't glued at the hip, you know."
Louisa looked like she wanted to argue, but decided against it.
Smart girl. A protective Ana was a dangerous Ana.
"Who are the suits?" Carson motioned with his head.
Three men in impeccable suits had walked into the room with Willie Sala.
"Network executives," Louisa said. "Surely you heard they'd be in this week? The deal to take Hitched or Ditched national is all but done."
Carson took out his notebook. "Why hadn't I heard about this? This is news! Big news!"
He was so excited I thought one of his veneers might pop off.
Louisa added, "Friday's the day they're supposed to sign the contracts."
Friday was shaping up to be a busy day for a lot of people.
Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Willie excusing himself from the group. He headed straight toward us, smoothing down the five measly stripes of hair on top of his head.
"Louisa," he said in a loud whisper, motioning her over.
Clipboard in hand, she hurried to his side.
Perry and Mario came in, holding hands. "What's going on?" Perry asked, referring to Willie's impromptu powwow.
"Don't know."
We eavesdropped as Willie, who may have been whispering, but his voice carried, said to Louisa, "Where's Genevieve?"
Louisa shrugged. "I don't know, sir."
Perry leaned in. "What I would do to buzz that combover off his head."
"Hideous," Mario agreed.
Willie's fists clenched. "She's supposed to be down here, schmoozing. Find her now!" he demanded.
Louisa scurried off. I looked around for Thad. No sign of him either. I thought I should probably tell Louisa to look in Willie's office bathroom for Genevieve, and that she'd probably find Thad in there too, but kept quiet. None of my business, I kept reminding myself.
"I need to go call my producer about this deal in the works," Carson said, tucking his notebook back into his jacket pocket.
Ana latched onto his arm. "I'll come with you."
He smiled, a thousand watts at least, and led her away.
"They'll be the cover story in the next SoSceCinci," Perry said. SoSceCinci, aka Social Scene Cincinnati, was the town's social, entertainment, and gossip paper, a weekly. Maria, my sister, an event planner, raved about the paper, especially since they loved to photograph her at her various events.
I tried to imagine how Ana would like the publicity. I quickly decided I should just go out and buy her a scrapbook—she was going to love the attention.
"When do you want to do our shopping trip?" Perry asked me. "You need new clothes in a desperate way."
"What's wrong with this?" I wore a classic black dress, nicely cut. It fit all the right places and hid all problem areas.
"My grandmother wore that same dress to my grandfather's funeral," Mario said. "In 1988. And I don't know much about clothes, that's Perry's thing, but I know you don't look so good."
Okay, that sealed it. Pulling out my day planner from my backpack, I looked at Perry. "When, exactly, is good for you?"
Perry wasn't listening. He was staring. "Well, hi-ho, silver! He looks hot tonight."
My skin danced. I didn't need to look over my shoulder to know who he was talking about.
Mario fanned his face. "You're not kidding. Nina, you're one lucky girl."
Bobby's hands settled on my shoulders, and his kiss lingered on my cheek. "Miss me?"
Mario and Perry watched us closely.
"As always." I tucked my day planner away and slipped my arm around his back. So natural, so easy. So contrived for Mario and Perry's sake.
Sneaking a peak, I saw Bobby wore dark trouser style jeans, scuffed loafers, a blue button-down, sleeves rolled up. Hi-ho, indeed. Hot didn't even come close.
"Who died?" he asked me, fingering the sleeve of my dress.
Perry opened his mouth.
"Ah-ah! Not a word," I warned. "We'll be right back." I pulled Bobby aside, stepping over wires, dodging hulking cameras. Someone ought to turn on the overhead lights, I thought, before somebody got hurt. "You don't like the dress?"
"Not really. Now, you out of it . . . "
Outwardly, I ignored his comment, but inwardly I was melting. "How's Mac?" I asked.
Bobby grinned—I assumed at my abrupt change of subject. His dimple popped out, and I fought the urge to kiss him. "Settled in front of the TV for the night," he said. "Watching a COPS marathon."
"How'd things go at Lowther House?"
"Great." His brows dipped.
"What?"
He hesitated. "Nothing."
"Does Mac have that much money?"
"Apparently he's been saving."
There was something in his tone. "What did Mac do for a living before he retired?"
"Long story."
The lights finally came up on the set, and I spotted Louisa rushing into the room, her cheeks fl ushed. Willie stepped away from the execs, leaned close as she whispered into his ear.
"What's going on there?" Bobby asked.
"No one can find Genevieve."
Smirking, he said, "Did they check Willie's office bathroom?"
"My thoughts exactly."
Willie's gestures were short, controlled. It was obvious by the strain in his face he was trying not to get angry in front of the network people.
"I spoke to Josh today," I said.
"You did?"
"Apparently there's a settlement in the works for Jessica."
"He's not the most savory of characters, but he's a good lawyer. He'll get her a good deal."
He'd totally missed the point. "A settlement means we didn't have to do this show."
His dimple came out as he smiled. "What? You're not having fun?"
Grrr.
"Just look at all the time we get to spend together this week," he said, moving in close.
I inhaled, smelled that soap/coffee/him scent again. My mouth went dry. "It's been, ah, a blast."
He laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"You should see the look on your face."
Heat climbed my neck.
With a fingertip, he lifted my chin. "Is it really so bad?" he asked, looking into my eyes.
I stared into his. The light blue seemed even brighter than usual. I sighed. "It's just . . . hard."
"For me too," he said, pulling me into a hug.
For a minute I let him hold me. In his arms, I forgot about the doubts, the questions, the regrets.
He let me go as Thad sauntered into the room in his robe. Carson dashed to his side and thrust a microphone to Thad's lips. The cameraman followed. Ana followed him.
"This is surreal," Bobby said.
I'd been thinking the same thing. For a reality show, nothing seemed to be real at all. Adultery, pretend contestants, phony death threats . . .
Louisa tore out of the room. Face fl ushed, Willie wiped his head, dislodging his comb-over. He returned to the execs, shrugging off the incident.
I turned away from the craziness, headed toward the hot tub. "While we have a second, maybe we should talk."
"About?"
"Us. That kiss today." I glanced up at him.
Arching an eyebrow, the corner of his lip curved up in a smile. "The audience will eat that stuff up, don't you think?"
"The audience? Oh! Right, right. The audience."
"We are pretend contestants, remember?"
"Of course. Pretend." Only there was nothing pretend about that kiss. He knew it. I knew it. Question was, what were we going to do about it?
Heat billowed up in plumes of steam as I leaned on the edge of the hot tub.
Moving in close, his body touched mine. He lowered his head, put it on my shoulder. "Wasn't it?" he whispered into my ear.
Did I want to get into this? To open this
can of worms? He'd be gone in a week's time, back to Florida, back to his life.