Love in Reality: A Contemporary Romance (The Blackjack Quartet) (27 page)

Rand rubbed his forehead. What was he supposed to say? “I don’t think I can do it, man,” he said finally.

“C’mon, we’re buds, right? Didn’t I introduce you to Sally Napolitano?”

“Yeah, but you weren’t dating Sally when you did it,” Rand snapped.

There was a horrible silence and Rand cursed himself for not keeping his cool. Then Phil said, “Uh, okay, I had not thought of that,” in that slimy lawyer voice of his. Rand felt sick to his stomach.

“Oh shit,” Rand muttered.

“Yes. Quite,” Phil said. “Now you have to tell me what’s going on. Who knows, you may need a lawyer.”

“You’re hired. I’ll send you a check in the morning. Attorney-client privilege apply?”

“You’re serious?” Phil was incredulous. “I was kidding, man. Have you really broken any laws?”

“No, I don’t think so. But for sure I’ll lose my job.”

“Not that I see it as a bad outcome, you understand.”

“Under these circumstances, you would.”

“Start from the beginning, Rand.”

Rand ran through the whole story: Lissa giving him the idea for hijacking
The Fishbowl
, the screenplay, his attraction to her, the extra time stolen at the end of her interviews. “She was just going to be the role model for the love interest in the screenplay,” he said finally.

“I gather she proved to be more inspirational than you imagined.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Still,” Phil said, clearly thinking it over. “How did you get from flirting to a proprietary relationship.”

“A what?”

“Rand, you nearly bit my head off for asking to meet her. Trust me, your feelings are definitely proprietary.”

Rand stared at the TV, the baseball game on mute. He thought about how hard it was to drive home from the studio every evening, leaving Lissa in there with that asshole Dylan. Rand’s body rebelled, aching to run back in, scoop her up and carry her off. Yup, his feelings were well into caveman territory.

“All right, they are,” he admitted.

“Well, you are not the least bit romantic, so I’ll ask again: How did you get from flirting to here?”

It would be a relief to talk about it, Rand realized. “I stole her.”

“Excuse me? Are you sure you haven’t committed a crime?”

“I smuggled her off the set for a few hours alone.”

Phil whistled. “But there’s a live feed to the Internet twenty four seven. Someone would have noticed.”

“I had help. A guy who makes dead bodies for CSI crafted an animatronic doll to mimic Lissa asleep in her bed.”

“Holy shit.”

“Twice.”

“What?”

“I’ve smuggled her out on two separate occasions,” Rand said.

“Oh, man. That’s too rich. And I’m guessing you two didn’t go off to a 24-hour mini-golf course.”

“Uh, no.”

“Okay, let’s review the facts. You’ve fallen for this woman. She hasn’t spurned your advances. Your relationship is carnal and proprietary. So why don’t you sound happier?”

Rand explained about Marcy’s changes to his schedule. “I can’t even touch her.” He sighed. “Three weeks is a long time to wait.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Rand frowned. “No. Why?”

Phil laughed, hard. “Goatman, why do you suppose you got that nickname? It’s because you were the least randy guy we knew. I mean, we knew you weren’t gay, but you were hardly a major player on campus. Downright fastidious, I’d have said.”

“Your point?”

“Well, I’m comparing the guy who could go months without a date to this picture of you fretting about three weeks being too long.”

Had he really been that fussy? Oh, probably.

“She’s special,” he admitted to Phil.

“Why’d you think I wanted to meet her?”

“Really? Because everyone at work”—
well, Marcy
—“thinks she’s super boring. I know she’s not, but how could you tell?”

Rand heard the laughter in Phil’s voice. “Because she’s smart and subversive. She wants everyone to think she’s a bit dim, but virtually every competition she’s wanted to win, she has. I’ve seen her slack off only when someone she trusts is about to win instead.”

“She’s not playing to win the money,” Rand told him.

“I understand that now. Why’d she go on the show? Just to further a relationship with you?”

“Embarrassing to admit, but yeah.”

“That’s hot.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Rand agreed.

“Well, I’m annoyed I don’t have a chance, but I’m thrilled it’s going well for you. Now, about that job of yours.”

Rand had trouble getting off the subject of Lissa. “What about it?”

“Why are you still there? I can believe you needed to stay in the job to meet the fair Lissa, but now what’s your excuse?”

“Hey, just because I’m not making a San Francisco attorney’s salary doesn’t mean I’m hurting here.”

“It’s not about the money, though, is it?”

“Oh, don’t be annoying and cryptic. Just spit it out. What’s your beef with my job?”

“Don’t bite my head off. I was there when your short won a prize—a real prize at a real film festival. You’re talented. What the hell are you doing working on a reality TV program?”

“You sound like my dad.”

“Just because you can’t stand to compete with him doesn’t make your dad a bad guy,” Phil said softly.

“He’s not a filmmaker,” Rand said. He could tell how stupid he sounded.

“You’re preaching to the choir. You want to be different from your dad. We all get that. But different doesn’t mean mediocre. Just be yourself.”

“I thought the screenplay was doing that.”

“Only now you don’t want to make a film that will screw things with Lissa, who won’t like the news that she was just a stooge from the beginning.”

“I always hated that about you, you know.”

“Hated what?” Phil asked.

“That you’re smart. It’s so annoying.”

He heard Phil’s laugh distantly, as though he’d pulled the phone away from his mouth. Finally, Phil said, “Screw the job and screw the film. Go get the girl, Goatman. We’re all going to want to meet her at the next reunion.”

* * *

When Chris won the Shark Fight, Libby knew she would finally get fished out. She and Kai would be put on the hook because Dylan and Susie were in Chris’s alliance. If Kai won the Get Off The Hook, she’d save herself. Libby would make sure to lose so Kai wouldn’t get fished out. Libby wanted Kai to win the money for her tribe. It was Libby’s time to leave.

Meanwhile, they closed the largest bedroom, and Libby got the foul-mouthed Dylan as her roommate. When his move into the blue bedroom was announced, Libby mentally rolled her eyes. Dylan wouldn’t be a fun roommate. Privately to Kai she admitted that Dylan’s outbursts made her uncomfortable. “It’s not too bad, but I can’t relax around him the way I can with Chris or Susie.”

The first night with Dylan in the same room, Libby went to bed early. Ten days after their night by the ocean, she was lonely for Rand. Maybe if she was asleep when Dylan came in, he’d leave her alone. Unlikely—Dylan would be doubly unpleasant to her because only Kai’s intervention had foiled Dylan’s plan to get rid of Libby when he’d first had the chance.

Sure enough, Dylan deliberately woke her up when he came in drunk. Once the food competitions stopped, everyone was allowed beer and wine, although Dylan was the only one who drank much of either. He turned on the light, muttering something about not caring if it woke up Li’l Miz Perfect.

Libby didn’t move. Maybe he’d pass out and she could turn the light off and get back to sleep.

“You fucking bitch,” he said loudly, stumbling over to bump into her bed. A deliberate bit of clumsiness on his part, so he couldn’t be completely blotto. Unfortunately.

“Okay, Dylan,” she said calmly, sitting up and finger-combing her hair. She prepared herself for a scene bad enough to make it onto the show.

“You were supposed to go home,” he said.

“Yes, I know that. You put me on the hook but Kai got me off.”

“I wanted y’gone.”

“I know.”

“Bitch,” he said bitterly. He sat on her bed. Her nerves tightened, but she wasn’t alarmed.

She just stared at him. Finally, he leaned forward, “I don’ like you.”

“Dylan, it’s a game. I’ll probably go home this week. Chris will put Kai and me both on the hook—we can’t both save ourselves.”

“Yeah, but you’ll wiggle off again,” he spat, flicking his fingers in her face.

Libby could hardly tell him she would purposefully lose the Get Off The Hook competition. “It’s much more likely that you or Susie will win,” she reassured him.

“I’ll kill you if you win it,” he whispered. He leaned in close as he said it. He smelled sour from the beer and Libby couldn’t stop herself from recoiling a little. He was finally making her nervous.

“I’ll twis’ y’r neck till y’r dead,” he hissed. His spit landed on her cheek. He reached over and cupped a hand around her throat.

Should she yell? She was afraid to add fuel to the fire, but she couldn’t sit and let him threaten her.

Both their mikes were on, of course. Within a minute, a disembodied voice instructed Dylan to go to the Journal Room. He glared at her, but left the room all the same.

Kai came in a few minutes later.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Dylan was drunk,” Libby said wearily. She was ready to get out of
The Fishbowl
. On a day when she had barely talked to Rand, the prospect of leaving never felt better.

Kai sat down on the bed. She took one of Libby’s hands in her own. “That’s not surprising, but what did he say to get the law on him?”

Libby closed her eyes. “Oh, he threatened to kill me if I didn’t get fished out this week.”

“Oh, honey,” Kai said, and hugged Libby. Kai’s long silky hair brushed Libby’s shoulders, making her so homesick for Lissa she could barely swallow.

Kai passed over a tissue. Eventually the voice—not Rand’s—instructed everyone to go to the living room.

Chris came down from the Shark Tank, Susie wandered in from the bedroom she shared with Kai, and Libby and Kai joined them. There was no sign of Dylan. The voice explained that Dylan had been spoken to, the beer and wine would be removed from the house, and they were going to move Lissa in with Susie and Kai. Dylan and Chris would room together, which meant Dylan would be on his own while Chris was the Shark. Would the four of them please stay either in the living room or out in the garden while these changes were made.

Chris kept them company as they went into the garden for some fresh air. There was still no sign of Dylan, so the four of them made desultory conversation.

Finally, Kai said to Chris, “I don’t suppose you could make Dylan go away, could you?”

“What did he do, anyway?” Susie asked.

“Threatened Lissa,” Kai told them. She looked at Libby and jerked her head, signaling that she should tell them.

“He said he’d kill me if I got off the hook this week,” Libby said flatly. She couldn’t muster the energy to care.

Susie looked uncomfortable. Clearly their alliance had discussed targeting her.

“We’ll make sure he stays in line,” Chris said finally.

“You do that,” Kai told him. Libby was grateful for Kai’s ferocity, but mostly she was tired and wanted desperately to see Rand. Or Lissa.

Rand heard about Dylan’s drunken scene the next day, and immediately reviewed the relevant tapes. He then went to argue with Marcy.

“Why hasn’t Dylan been kicked out?” Rand demanded.

“Oh please, spare me. He made a threat, we lectured him, we took the beer away and moved him to a different room. She won’t have to be alone with him.”

“Marcy, I watched the tape. That was no drunken threat. He hates her.”

“Yes, but you haven’t heard the good news. It’s already on YouTube, and it’s going viral,” she crowed. “I’ve told Editing to devote a good chunk of Tuesday’s show to this. The ratings are going to soar.”

Stupid to be surprised by Marcy’s warped values, but Rand couldn’t help it.

“Marcy, why didn’t anyone talk to Lissa? She could be traumatized, you know.”

“What is it with you and that girl? I haven’t forgotten that you’re the one who found her and insisted we cast her.”

“I’ll ignore that bit of revisionist history, Marcy, and get back to the point. Have you informed Legal? Lissa could sue us. She could claim that we’re at fault because we provided Dylan with too much alcohol, failed to protect her, and that she was assaulted because we stuck her and Dylan in the same bedroom.”

“What assault? He barely laid a hand on her. We checked—no bruises.”

“He doesn’t have to hurt her for it to be assault,” he explained.

“Really. Hunh. I always thought assault-and-battery was like mugging,” Marcy said.

Rand kept his face stern. “So there’s some legal risk here. Let me talk to her, okay? If she’s okay, great. And if she isn’t, we’re better off trying to address her concerns now.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she said, turning back to her computer.

“I’m going to tell the Control Room to turn her mike off,” Rand said casually as though this step was obvious.

“What? Why would you need to do that?” Marcy demanded.

“So there’s no evidence of the conversation,” he said. “I’m doing damage control. No way do I want any evidence that we waited,” he glanced at the clock, “over thirteen hours before we spoke to her.”

“Oh. All right, go talk to her.”

Rand left before she could think of more reasons to question his judgment. He stopped by the Control Room, explained why he wanted Lissa’s mike turned off as long as she was in the Journal Room. Then he went to his usual spot and announced over the PA, “Lissa, please come to the Journal Room.”

When she came in, he joined her in the Journal Room. Before she could say anything, he signaled for her to turn around and unclipped the transmitter pack for her mike.

His hands ached to caress her but he still needed to get the lav off her tank top. When that was done, he put the equipment in the Control Room and shut the door. Even if someone turned it back on, with the soundproofing on the door, they’d have a hard time picking up anything that he and Lissa said. He checked that the doors were locked, and the lights were off in the Journal Room itself. That way, even if someone walked into the other room, they wouldn’t see much. Not a lot of light filtered through the smoky window, but it was enough to keep from bumping into the coffee table.