Danger in High Heels (3 page)

"Really?" I asked.

"Sure. I mean, he's there all the time. I bet he totally has access."

I sucked in the side of my cheek. What harm would there be in just visiting the set, checking out the wardrobe department, and chatting with an old friend?

"Ricky wouldn't mind?" I asked. "I mean, I don't want to cut into his rehearsal time."

Dana waved me off. "Are you kidding? He's usually dying for an excuse to take a break. That Irina is a slave driver."

I pursed my lips. In that case, it was almost irresponsible of me
not
to look into Felix's theft story. I sort of even owed it to Felix to help him out, right? I mean, I'm sure if I thought hard enough I could think of a time in the past when he'd helped me out. At the very least, he'd bought me two pomegranate margs at lunch. I really should return the favor.

"An insider's view
is
something that Allie would never be able to get," I mused out loud, knowing that the network had a strict no-paparazzi policy. It did not, on the other hand, have a no-friends-of-the-girlfriends-of-its-stars policy.

Dana nodded. "Totally. We'd be way inside."

I looked down at the twins gurgling a little spit bubble symphony. "You know, if we could get them to nap in the car, maybe they'd be quiet on set after all."

Chapter Three

Only a scant forty-five minutes later I had the diaper bag packed, the bottles made, the extra outfits picked out and shoved in the bottom of my purse, baby toys, baby wipes, baby blankets, and two clean, semi-happy children strapped into car seats in the back of my Honda Odyssey.

Yes, it's true. I now drove a minivan. With a "Baby on Board" sign suctioned to the back window. Commence laughing at me.

When I'd first found out I was pregnant, I'd been hesitant about the ability of my little red Jeep to hold my new precious cargo. Sure it was awesome for buzzing around town with the top down on a sunny day, but it wasn't exactly the quintessential mom-mobile. But when I'd found out I was not having just one, but two little bundles of joy, I knew I was going to need a new car. I had resisted the minivan at first, looking at every four-door sedan and SUV on the market. But the truth was, the minivan was so easy. The doors opened on their own, the seats were big enough for two car seats plus all the baby gear, and there was even a built in TV in the back of each headrest for when the kids got old enough to stare at Elmo. So, I'd relented. Hanging my head in shame, I had bought a minivan.

But I hadn't been able to completely let go of my first baby - my Jeep. It was still tucked away in the garage, just waiting for a time when a top-down, carefree day might come my way again. (Even if that didn't look likely for at least another eighteen years.)

Thankfully the twins didn't mind car rides and did, in fact, sleep most of the way to the UBN Studios. Dana gave her name to the guard at the gates, which, of course, was on the list, and we were quickly ushered into a lot to our right where we parked and pulled out the twins' huge double stroller, ever so carefully attaching their car seats to the top to keep them asleep as we transferred them.

The United Broadcasting Network was a fairly new network, cropping up on basic cable and vying for valuable Nielsen airtime with the big boys of NBC, CBS, and ABC. They started out filling the prime-time sitcom void with fresh premises and out-of-the-box humor, then graduated to the mother lode of ratings grabbers with a string of reality shows. They had a show about an aging rock star's crazy teenage kids, a weight loss show featuring flab to fab results of former child stars, and, of course,
Dancing with Celebrities
, which, thanks to featuring an eclectic cast including a Teen Mom whose fifteen minutes of fame should have ended hours ago, a former NFL player turned tranny, and heart-throb Ricky, this season had launched the network into the front-runner of the ratings race. Personally, I was addicted and voted for Ricky every week.

The network studios themselves looked shockingly like any other office building complex in Los Angeles. Squat, stucco buildings with brown clay-tiled roofs were arranged around a central courtyard with a bubbling fountain and tasteful landscaping. Behind the offices sat a row of warehouses that housed sets for the various TV shows currently shooting. Interspersed between the warehouses were white trailers, holding mobile wardrobe racks, props, and designer coffee drinks. Dana and I pushed the monster stroller down an alleyway lined with white trailers stopping at studio 3B, where a bright orange sign above the door proclaimed it was home to
Dancing with Celebrities.

Dana and I walked through the large doors that reminded me of the ones on our garage at home, immediately assaulted by the sounds of the rumba being blasted at top volume. The cameras were absent today, but a dozen guys in cargo shorts and T-shirts reading "crew" laid cables, arranged microphones, and adjusted lights, getting positions ready to capture the dance from all angles once they went live. To our right sat a set of bleachers, empty now but ready to hold the live studio audience once shooting began on Wednesday. To the left was a bandstand, though the rumba we currently heard was not being shouted out by a live horn section but by speakers hidden in the ceiling somewhere. And in the center of the room was a polished, hardwood stage, bathed in bright spotlights, where Ricky and Irina were dancing their hearts out in sparkly, sequined outfits. Ricky's was a tuxedo style pantsuit, and Irina's a skin-tight, red dress that ended just below her butt.

Dana took one look at the barely-there skirt, and a frown settled between her brows. Her jaw clenched, and her lips set in a grim, tight line, jealousy radiating off of her.

I put a hand on her arm in a show of support as I watched Ricky and Irina finish their rumba, seriously impressed at Ricky's moves. While the sweat on his forehead indicated that he was working hard to keep up with Irina, the fact that just two months ago he'd never even heard of the rumba, let alone attempted the ballroom dance, was pretty amazing. I had a feeling he might even be in the running to win the whole competition.

The music finally ended with Ricky and Irina striking a stunning pose as he held her high off the dance floor. As soon as he set her down, Ricky spotted us and sauntered over, pausing only long enough to grab a water bottle from the Craft Service table.

"Hey, babe," he said, coming in to give Dana a kiss.

"Eww, you're all sweaty," she giggled, though I noticed she didn't move away as his lips hit her cheek.

"What are you ladies doing here?" he asked.

"Oh, we just thought you could use a visit," Dana replied.

He grinned at her. "You just can't stay away, can you?"

"You know you love the attention," she teased.

His grinned widened as he looked past her. "And I see you brought babies with you."

"Don't worry," I quickly reassured him. "I'm outta here if they start screaming."

Ricky waved me off. "Who, these little guys? I can't imagine them causing any trouble," he said. Though, he did look slightly relieved. "So what do you think of my rumba?" he asked, gesturing to the dance floor.

"Awesome!" I said, the fan girl in me coming out. "Ohmigod, you and Irina are amazing together."

Dana's tight frown returned.

"I mean, you dance amazingly together," I quickly backpedaled.

"Thanks," Ricky said, chugging his water. "I swear the football workouts I did in high school were nowhere near this hard. These dancer chicks are hard core."

As much as I was enjoying talking dance, I knew I was on borrowed time before the munchkins started screaming again. I figured I'd better get to the point of the visit.

"Hey, do you happen to know where wardrobe is?" I asked.

Ricky shrugged. "For which show?"

Good question. "Actually, I'm looking for Lana Paulson. She's head of wardrobe for the network."

Recognition dawned in Ricky's eyes. "Sure. She's in the big, white building at the back of the lot."

"Awesome." I paused. "Do you happen to know her?" I asked.

He nodded. "She does all our costumes."

I cocked my head to the side. "I would have thought she had assistants doing the actual costuming."

"She does," he agreed. "For most shows. But DWC is like the granddaddy of costume shows, you know? She said she's waited her whole life for a gig like this."

I suddenly felt bad for her. If she had waited her whole life, then someone was stealing her creations and ruining that one chance, she was in trouble.

"There's a rumor going around that someone is stealing items from her," I told him.

Ricky paused a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. "That would explain a lot."

"Explain what?" I asked, jumping on the phrase.

"Well, last week they had to shut down production for a day," he said, echoing the story Felix had told me. "We were supposed to be doing a dress rehearsal, and Lana couldn't find the sequined gown Shaniqua was supposed to wear for her tango."

"Shaniqua – the football player turned…" I paused, searching for the appropriately PC term.

"Turned chick," Ricky supplied for me, clearly not as concerned with PC as I was. "She used to be Shawn Jones. She's actually really cool. I'd offer to introduce you, but she's rehearsing next door right now."

"So, the gown. It was stolen?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, just misplaced. But the director was pissed. He was shouting at Lana so loudly she was crying. I kinda felt bad for her. I mean, we all misplace stuff sometimes, you know?"

"So it
wasn't
stolen?" I asked. I'll admit it, stolen gowns were the most excitement I'd seen in months. I was kind of disappointed to see it slipping away as nothing more than an absentminded wardrobe woman trying to save her job.

"No. She did eventually find it. It was stuck in the wrong wardrobe rack. We all just figured she forgot where she put it."

"What about the other items?" I asked him. "I heard there were two other items missing before the gown. Were they ever found?"

Ricky shrugged. "Sorry. This is the first I've heard of it. You'd have to ask Lana, I guess."

"Any idea who has access to wardrobe?" I asked.

Ricky squinted past me. "Well, it's housed in the wardrobe building overnight and locked up pretty tight. But during the day, they bring it all on set. Some goes in our dressing rooms, some stays in the trailer. It's honestly all over. Anyone could grab an item unnoticed, really."

Which was good and bad for Felix's story. It proved that theft was
possible
, but it didn't narrow down a field of suspects any.

"Ricky, Irina's ready to go over the footwork again," a guy in a black crew shirt yelled from across the room.

"Sorry. Duty calls," Ricky said. Then he gave Dana a quick peck on the cheek before running over to stand in the spotlight. Irina appeared again on set to join him, lifting her head high, elongating her dancer's neck, as she took Ricky's hands in hers, standing frozen in their first pose as they waited for the music to start.

Max stirred in his stroller, and I held my breath, hoping he kept quiet long enough to watch. I did some stroller jiggling as the music started.

Irina snapped to attention, concentration taut in her face as she arched her body around Ricky's.

I stole a quick glance at Dana. Her mouth was set in that grim line again, her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched. Poor thing. We were only three episodes in. She had a lot of watching her man dance with someone else ahead of her.

The rumba was over surprisingly quickly, ending in the same air-lifted pose we'd seen before. As soon as the music stopped and Ricky placed his partner back on the floor, Irina's face broke into a frown.

"Too slow," she said, a thick accent coloring her speech. "We'll do it again."

Ricky sighed. "We've done it four times."

"We'll do it until you have it right!" she snapped, then turned on heel and walked back offstage again, down a hall leading to the left. "Re-set the music," I heard her yell as she disappeared.

Ricky turned Dana's way, sent her a grin, then rolled his eyes before grabbing his water bottle.

And in the carriage, Max started squirming and making little mewing sounds.

"I think I better go feed the animals," I reluctantly told Dana.

She nodded, her face relaxing in direct proportion to the distance now between Ricky and his hot co-star. "Sure. There's a lounge just behind the bleachers. It's usually empty."

I nodded. "You coming with?"

She shook her head. "If you don't need me, I think I'm going to stay and watch them practice."

Which I interpreted to mean she didn't want to leave Irina and her man alone.

"'K. Be back in a sec," I promised, popping the brakes up on the stroller and heading toward the lounge.

I found it easily enough, a plain, square room filled with non-descript sofas, a microwave, and a water cooler. Again, it reminded me of an office building much more than the glamour of Hollywood. I plopped myself down in one of the chairs, then grabbed the bottles from the diaper bag and mixed their powdery stuff with some bottled water.