Love in Reality: A Contemporary Romance (The Blackjack Quartet) (5 page)

She had some weird attraction for him. He hadn’t wanted to leave the bar. He hadn’t wanted to leave her.

Rand shook his head and went back to his notepad. He was overthinking this. Lissa was bright, pretty, occasionally a little ditzy, and he could get her past Marcy. That he liked Lissa on a more personal level had to be evidence of his great casting instincts. Other than that, she was just a means to an end.

He finished two full pages of notes on the basic story arc for the screenplay—his screenwriting professor would be so proud that Rand remembered the eighteen-scene story structure—including a through line for his main character. Wait—something wasn’t quite right.

His character should have a love interest! Which was a problem because Rand wasn’t dating anyone. He mentally reviewed his recent romantic encounters for inspiration. He’d been seeing a series of beautiful women who wanted to be models, actresses, model-actresses, or hosts on a show where they got to interview models, actresses and model-actresses on the red carpet. All too superficial.

And boring. Frankly, Lissa was more interesting than most of the women he dated.

His phone rang and he checked the read-out. He didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Rand?” The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Yes?”

“Hi, it’s Lissa Pembroke,” the voice said. She was highly amused about something. Maybe she’d had a couple of drinks after the bar closed.

“I was just thinking about you,” he said.

“Then I must have ESP, because something told me it would be a good idea to phone you.” She laughed as though she found herself quite clever.

Rand shook his head. Yet another side to this woman. “Okay.”

“Well, I know I must have seemed uninterested in the show when you were in the bar,” Lissa said.

Rand wasn’t sure what to say, so he made a “go on” noise.

“The reality is that my life’s a bit complicated right now. I want to be on the show, I do. Even if I seem conflicted.” She paused, then sighed. “I’m sorry. This is harder than I thought it would be.” She took a deep breath.

“That’s okay, I understand,” Rand said. Actually he had no idea what was going on, although he was rather enjoying the sound of her voice. It was lighter and brighter than he remembered it. Maybe she only used the other voice at work.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to say anything earlier—you know, at the bar?—because of Barney. His wife has cancer.”

Barney—oh, right, the old guy. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Sheila is so wonderful. We’ve known her all our lives.”

“We?” He remembered the uncle. There had to be a family to go along with uncle and niece.

There was a long pause. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I have a sister,” Lissa said slowly.

“Okay.” Rand was definitely getting ditzy vibes now.

Another long pause. “Anyway, I need to stay until I know Sheila’s chemo went well. You know?”

Actually he did. His dad’s older sister had died of breast cancer, and it had rocked the family. Tests, waiting for results, then treatments followed by more tests, more waiting for more results. “I do. So that’s why you can’t commit?”

“Exactly!” There was a note of relief in her voice. “You seemed so nice, I didn’t want to leave you in the dark. I sometimes don’t take the time to explain things to people,” she said slowly. Her voice had an odd note of bitterness.

“Hey, you were working, I understand.”

“Right. I was. Okay,” she said, as though it was time to change the subject. “So tell me a bit about yourself. I was, uh, distracted earlier, at the bar.”

“By your uncle,” Rand said.

“Uncle Jack! Yes, that was definitely a shock. He’s very intense.”

“I picked up on that.”

“And you’re not,” she said, almost to herself. “Which is good. I mean, that you’re not as intense.”

Rand was loving this. She was being exactly what he needed—unfocused and decidedly ditzy.

“Please tell me you’re going to do the show,” he urged.

She laughed. “Based on something I just saw online, I think I will be.”

That made no sense. Rand let it pass.

She went on, “But I can’t commit yet.”

“Got it.”

“Uh, I was wondering. Do you have kids? You didn’t say.”

Rand was taken aback. That was out of left field. “No, no kids. I’m not married, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She laughed again. “Okay, yes, that’s what I was asking. Not for myself, you understand.”

Rand chuckled. Women just didn’t do subtle. “No, of course not.”

There was a pause, then she said, “That didn’t sound very believable, did it? Well, I guess it’s not like I’ll see anything of you once I’m on the show?—”

She was hitting on him. Or not. She didn’t sound flirtatious at all, but she was interested in him for some reason. Rand needed to be careful what he said. He didn’t want to suggest a connection that clearly couldn’t happen while she was a Fish.

“No, there’s never any contact between the Fish and the crew.”

“That’s too bad. You sound like a nice guy,” she said.

Definitely hitting on him. Why hadn’t he picked up on this at the bar?

Before he could respond, she rushed on. “In fact, I really shouldn’t be talking to you, should I? Could we pretend this conversation never took place?” She was laughing again. Nope, not subtle.

“Yeah, it’s late,” he agreed.

“I’ll call you if I can be on the show,” she said.

“Right.”

“Bye!”

Rand hung up and burst out laughing. He knew whose character he was going to steal for his love interest in the screenplay. A certain ditzy brunette bartender capable of surprising the audience. And capable of charming a certain callous TV producer.

Perfect.

Libby was polishing the glassware, which didn’t need it, when the door opened and two of her Franklin Law classmates walked in. Libby recognized them, although she didn’t know the dark-haired one very well. She had to think for a minute to dredge up their names, which luckily gave her enough time to remember she was “Lissa-the-bartender” and presumably didn’t know their names.

They sat down at the bar, jostling each other and grinning. “Hi. What can I get you?” she asked them as she put a bowl of pretzels in between them.

“Hey, Lissa,” the dark one—Steve, Libby was fairly sure—said suggestively. He was smirking in a nudge-nudge-wink-wink way.

They knew Lissa by name. Worse, they knew her well enough to flirt with her. Libby tried to cover her confusion by turning to smile gingerly at the blond, Ted. He also grinned at her, although perhaps less maniacally than Steve. Libby knew Ted from a disastrous party their first year at Franklin Law. At school he didn’t act like he recalled groping her, though.

“So, what’ll it be, guys?” she said in perfect mimicry of Lissa’s friendly manner. She prayed they didn’t ask for “the usual” because she knew they weren’t among the customers she’d memorized from Lissa’s notes.

“Two Buds,” Steve said.

Libby got the drinks for them. She was about to turn away to do something else—anything else—when Ted said, “Your sister’s doing it again.”

Libby fought the urge to fold her hands, close her eyes, and pray for this to end. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “She’s in our Corporations class, and Professor Dickerson asked a question and as usual Lib was the only one who knew the answer.”

“Well, that’s probably not true,” Ted said quietly. “Meghan Mattson undoubtedly knew the answer. But
she
only speaks in class if the professor calls on her.”

Steve shrugged. “No, you’re right,” he said to Ted, then turned back to explain to Libby, “Meghan’s off-the-charts smart, so we all figure she must know everything, but she never talks in class.”

Libby was starting to put the pieces together. For whatever reason, Ted and Steve liked to come down to the Cork to flirt and gossip about what Lissa’s twin was like in law school.

And to think she’d considered Uncle Jack’s visit to be awkward.

Luckily Barney called for her to fill an order, giving Libby time to process this new wrinkle in her mashed-up life.

How did these guys know Lissa? Libby could have sworn she hadn’t told anyone at school that Lissa worked at the Cork.

Libby flipped Ted and Steve her best Lissa smile. They lit up like a synchronized Christmas display. Libby went back to making drinks, her nausea rising as she imagined all the ways this situation could play out.

It wasn’t too hard to see what Lissa wanted from Beavis and Butt-head either. Libby didn’t talk a lot about law school to Lissa, who only wanted the gossip, stories about classmates and who was dating. Stuff Libby didn’t even know.

Clearly her twin had found another source.

Libby glanced swiftly over her shoulder. They waved. She smiled, her face muscles tight. She wanted them to go away. The trouble was, she reflected as she plunked a maraschino cherry into a Manhattan, Lissa wouldn’t have sent them away. She’d have chatted with them. It was going to look odd if Libby ignored them.

She passed the tray of drinks to Barney. The bar was nearly empty, which didn’t help. Of course, it was rarely very busy on Wednesdays. That prompted a question Libby felt comfortable asking.

“So where have you guys been?” she said as she went back to their corner. “I haven’t seen you in here the past couple months.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that? We usually stop by on Wednesdays only you haven’t been working here as much. Barney said you’re taking classes.”

That explained a lot. Other than St. Pat’s, Libby hadn’t worked a Wednesday all semester.

Ted was looking at her, waiting for her to say something. To forestall their questions—because Libby had no desire to invent details about some fake course work to convince her law school classmates that she was still a real bartender—she asked a Lissa-style question.

“So you were saying about this girl who knows everything?”

Steve looked mystified, but Ted was quicker on the uptake. “Meghan Mattson. She’s actually a little bit older than us, but man is she intense. She says nothing in class, and then when exams are done, she always gets the top grades.”

Libby knew Meghan. They jogged together occasionally, but she wouldn’t consider Meghan a friend. They were both on Law Review, of course, and had drawn each other as competition in the moot court oral argument. Libby figured that was a lucky break for her because Meghan was so quiet. If she had a weakness, it had to be oral argument.

It seemed a bit mean to talk about her behind her back, but better to talk about Meghan than to gossip about “Libby” in the third person.

“Is she nice, Meghan?” Nice? That was lame. Libby tried to think what sort of things Lissa might want to know. “Is she dating anyone?”

The guys laughed.

“Her? No time. She’s always studying. Like
always
. She makes your sister look like a real party girl,” Ted said.

“And you know Libby is no party girl,” Steve added.

Libby’s a dead fish compared to her sister. Lissa’s the fun twin. I thought because they looked alike…what a waste of time.
Libby flashed back to college, when she overheard her first boyfriend—no, don’t think about him.

Too late. The nausea was now in her throat.

“Excuse me,” she said as she turned toward the door leading to the kitchen. Her stomach quieted as she leaned over the sink, sucking in deep breaths. Cold water on her hands and face helped ease her knot of anxiety, and the nausea receded. She wanted to slump on the floor and let it all out, but no way could she repair the evidence of tears before Barney came back to check on her.

Breathe.

Libby pressed a damp paper towel to her forehead and cheeks. Better. She drank some water. Another deep breath to steady her nerves and she was good to go.

She walked back out and smiled at Barney, who’d come around to take her place at the bar. She really didn’t want to worry him, not after what he’d been through with Sheila’s chemo.

“Sorry, Barney. I must have eaten some bad sushi,” Libby lied. He’d buy that—Barney didn’t hold with eating anything raw that God clearly meant to be cooked in a deep fat fryer.

Sure enough, that set him off on the dangers of Japanese food. “Yeah, those rollo things. They look like candy, they do, all pretty inside those plastic boxes. Can’t tell what you’re eating half the time. And why would a body want to eat with chopsticks when you could just as easily pop them right into your mouth? If you were going to eat them at all, which you should not do, by the way.”

Libby got a fresh bottle of water from the chiller, cracked it open and took a swig. She was trying to avoid looking at Steve and Ted. How long did they usually stay, anyway? Shouldn’t they be doing the reading for Thursday’s Corporations class? Now she was annoyed at them for being slackers as well as gossips.

The front door opened. Libby’s stomach lurched when she saw it was the gorgeous producer from that TV show. Good lord, how bad could this day get? What the hell was he—?

Libby felt light-headed when it occurred to her that Lissa might have called him already. What if Lissa had left a message to that effect?

“Barney, I’m going to get some crackers, okay?” Libby figured that would be the sort of home remedy for an upset stomach he’d understand. Thank God Barney wouldn’t jump to the assumption that “Lissa-the-bartender” was knocked up. He probably thought the twins were still “good girls.”

“Yeah, sure, Lissa—if you need to go home, I can cover the bar,” he offered. She wanted to hug him, but she needed to get to her phone while the producer was still hanging up his coat.

“No need, Barney, I’ll be right back,” she called as she whisked through the door to the back room. She grabbed her phone and checked: nothing. She hit Lissa’s number and waited, but it went to voicemail.

“Lissa, if you called that producer, you need to text me immediately. I’ll have my phone with me in the bar. He’s here now. I don’t want to say the wrong thing.” Then Libby typed out a quick text stressing the urgency.

Nothing left to do but go back into the French farce her life had become.