Love in Reality: A Contemporary Romance (The Blackjack Quartet) (6 page)

* * *

Rand watched his Ditzy Bartender—a role she seemed born to play—disappear through a door at the back of the bar. She looked even prettier today, in low-rider jeans and a snug baby tee in pink. It made her figure look even curvier and her dark hair extra sleek.

A few minutes later she emerged and talked quietly with the old guy. Then she came over to Rand with a quick, sidelong glance at two younger men. Her body seemed to vibrate with a nervous energy.

When she spoke to Rand, her voice was cheerful enough, if a bit impersonal. “Hi. What would you like tonight?” No hint of the flirtatious woman who’d asked him if he was married. She must have been serious about pretending the midnight phone call had never happened.

Rand just smiled. “You know what, why don’t you surprise me from the list of microbrews?”

She squinted her eyes a little. “You like IPAs that are a little extra hoppy, right?”

Impressive. “Good memory,” he said with a flicker of the killer smile.

She appeared not to notice the smile. Still pretending she hadn’t hit on him last night. Not that he planned to encourage any attraction, but he wanted her for
The Fishbowl
more than ever. He’d waited all day for her to call. Nothing. Instead, Marcy called six times, bitching about how useless he was and how much she needed him in the office. Debbie had also phoned to warn him about Marcy’s extra-horrible mood.

He’d apologized to Marcy, explained that he had new picks for the Girl Next Door and the Sophisticate, he had a great choice for the Codger—“He’s retired but still works out,” he’d assured her—and was staying in Philly another night because his Ditz was so awesome, Marcy was going to love her. “She’s a younger version of Jennifer Tilly,” Rand had said, knowing Marcy would get an intern to IMDb Jennifer Tilly and then order
Bound
from Netflix. So predictable.

Of course, Lissa, his Ditzy Bartender, didn’t sound at all like Jennifer Tilly. That would be a problem except Marcy had the attention span of a first grader with ADHD—four skinny-lattes-with-an-extra-shot before lunch would do that to a body. By the time Rand had a usable—which is to say heavily-doctored—tape reel of Lissa for Marcy to see, she would have forgotten all about Jennifer Tilly’s unique nasal drawl.

When Lissa came back with his beer, he turned up the power on his smile. “So, have you thought more about letting me tape you for the show? No commitment, just a tape. You still might not get on.”

She angled her body slightly so that she was turned away from the guys at the end of the bar. Rand checked—they were watching her, although he wasn’t sure why. Their body language suggested interest in Lissa, only Rand wasn’t getting a boyfriend vibe from either of them.

“Yeah, about that. I’m just not sure it’s going to work out. I think you’d better not count on me,” she said.

Rand was getting whiplash from this woman. “Last night, you said—?” he started.

She wasn’t masking the confusion in her eyes. “I know I said that maybe I could do the show, but it’s complicated. I really think you’d be better off if you found someone else. If I change my mind, I’ve got your number. I’ll call. And if by that time you’ve found someone else, I’ll understand.” She shifted her weight, poised to leave him. Barney called her name and she was gone.

She’d sounded way more interested on the phone. Why pull back now—it had to be an act. Damned if he could see the point of keeping up her facade of disinterest. Rand half-hoped she’d be like this on the show. How great to have a reality show plug Lissa as a greedy ditz when in fact she didn’t want to be there.

Plus, he could use her ambivalence in the screenplay. Rand brightened at the thought. He could write it so the love interest comes on the show only because of his character. He’d need to think of a way to make it plausible, though. Maybe his character could seduce her character.

He pictured her in a love scene, tasteful, nothing too obvious. Wow. Yeah, he could see it. She’d be great in bed.

She caught his eye, looked a question at him—did he want something else?—and walked over.

He was still mentally drafting a sex scene with her. Rand let some of that desire color his voice, making it lower and softer. “It’s cool about the show. But I’m here now. No reason we can’t get to know each other.”

She shot a startled look at him. Too much? Had he overdone the inappropriate come-on or was she persisting in the fiction that she hadn’t called him?

Rand opened his eyes wide and held his hands up. “Sorry. My bad. I shouldn’t have let my frustration overwhelm my professional ethics.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I apologize. It’s just I had to see another possible contestant in New Jersey and she wasn’t what I was looking for.” A true statement. The contestant in Jersey had been boring, whiny and clearly flunked the bikini test.

Lissa blinked at him. “Let me get you some Goldfish,” she said after a moment.

Rand wasn’t sure if that was a non sequitur, or had she really thought Goldfish would keep him company? Or—he grinned at this idea—she was deliberately messing with him, Mr. Bigshot
Fishbowl
Producer, by making sure it was Goldfish crackers and not pretzels in front of him.

Another reason to want her on the show—a great sense of humor.

“Hey, Lissa,” the blond guy at the front called over. She said, “Hold on, Ted,” dropped off the bowl of Goldfish, and went to see what the guys wanted. Rand pulled out his smartphone to look occupied, then shamelessly listened in on the guys’ exchange with Lissa.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” the brown-haired guy was saying.

“Yeah, you should come. We’re not inviting your sister, so we want to see how many people think you’re her,” the blond said.

Lissa jerked back a bit, shocked or stunned. Rand wasn’t sure, but she didn’t appear to enjoy the way the guys teased her.

Rand thought he caught her saying no, but she was being pretty quiet.

She shifted into professional mode, whisking away their glasses. When she reached for the bowl of pretzels, the darker one grabbed at her arm.

Rand was off his stool before he’d decided to intervene.

“Sweetheart, are these kids giving you a hard time?” he asked as he strolled over. At the sound of Rand’s voice, the guy released her arm fast.

She shot Rand a look of something—desperation?—before catching on to his ploy.

“No, honey, they’re just kidding. Hey, you guys haven’t met Rand, have you?”

Even with the width of the bar between them, Rand noticed that he and Lissa were doing a good job of standing as though they were together, their bodies instinctively parallel to each other. The two younger men seemed to pick up on the idea that they’d overstayed their welcome.

“Hey,” they said to Rand, almost in unison. Then they mumbled something about needing to leave and started to put on their coats.

They handed Lissa a couple of bills to cover their tab and waited for change. Rand stayed where he was, his attention focused on them. Rand could tell Lissa was moving around the space enclosed by the bar. He glanced over at her. Once again, her body was graceful and efficient. No flourishes, but she paid attention to what she was doing. She pushed the change across the bar toward the blond.

Lovely hands. She wore no rings or bracelets, and if she had on nail polish it was either clear or something remarkably close to nude. Didn’t matter—her nails were a lovely oval shape and her fingers were long but not bony. She stepped back just enough to take up the parallel position. She and Rand were standing like hosts watching some unpleasant guests leave.

He was tempted to tell the two men to drive carefully as they waved goodbye to Lissa, and headed out the door. She didn’t look sorry to see them go.

Rand wasn’t sure what had been going on. Neither was a boyfriend, nor even a potential date plus his wingman. Maybe they’d gone to college together. She went off to deal with another order and he returned to his stool.

When she came back around to him, she avoided making eye contact. Embarrassed, Rand guessed. He decided to bring the topic up for her. “Sorry if I overreacted.”

“No, I appreciated it.” She gave him a faint smile, shyness playing at her lips. “You did me a big favor, really.”

“How so?”

“Maybe they’ll leave me alone now.” Her smile grew warmer and Rand started to feel the glow that a lovely woman can spark in a guy.

He smiled back and watched as Lissa’s cheeks got pinker.

The bar was getting hot again, only this time Rand could tell it wasn’t global warming. More like the attraction between them. Rand didn’t want to call attention to it, so he changed the subject. “How did you get to be a bartender?”

That broke the spell, and Lissa went back to professional mode. She rattled off the answer—bar belonged to a family friend, helped out on break from college, liked the job, etc.—as though she got asked that all the time. Good. He needed her to relax around him.

“Yeah, my summer jobs were on TV or movie sets,” he told her. “Always on location, as it happened—I’d get stuck with the location shoots in the Valley, where it’s brutal in the summer. My friends from college who weren’t in the industry would kid me about how cushy it was to intern for a TV show or a movie. I could never express how dreary it really was.”

This was a test, of course. In Rand’s experience, all wannabee actors, directors, and screenwriters perked up at this and immediately started peppering him with questions—who did he know, could he help them get their head shot, résumé, or screenplay in front of someone, anyone, with some clout?

Lissa just smiled. “Try working a double shift in boots that may look great but feel like they’re lined with red-hot spikes.”

“True, at least I got to wear something sensible on location. A hundred degrees in the shade, yes, though not in high heels,” Rand said. He grinned at her—not the patented Jennings smile, but a regular “I get what you’re saying” sort of smile—and she smiled back.

She left to do some bartending. Rand sat up a bit straighter when she came back. He’d established himself as her friend, at least for now. Thin end of the wedge to get her on the show, Rand calculated.

He told her a couple of war stories about his summer jobs at the studio where his dad’s most famous show had been shot. Of course he didn’t mention his dad, but then Rand never mentioned his dad. He never brought up the production company or
Sweet Cherry
, the Minor Developments series that everyone over the age of twenty had grown up watching. Luckily “Jennings” was a common enough surname, so people rarely asked if they were related.

“What precisely do you do on
The Fishbowl
?” Lissa asked. She was leaning against the bar, turned so that she would still notice if anyone needed her.

Rand shrugged. “A little bit of everything, which is to say nothing much. The directors and editors get the brunt of the work. As you can imagine, having cameras on twenty four seven generates a huge amount of footage that someone’s got to look at to decide what actually goes on the air.”

She quirked her lips. “Sure. But what do
you
do?”

He liked that she noticed he hadn’t actually answered her question. Rand was really starting to enjoy this woman. “Well, I’m one of the people who writes the stuff that Jeremy does in voice-over, plus the questions for the challenges, and all the topics for the Fishes’ Journal entries.”

She laughed. “I never thought those Journal entries were spontaneous. Half the Fish last year could barely finish a sentence let alone provide a coherent narrative.”

“Clever woman,” Rand complimented her with a slight bow of his head. In his mind he was cheering. Other than the late-night phone call, she was proving to be the precise antithesis of “ditzy.” She wouldn’t fall for the nonsense the usual
Fishbowl
contestants pull. He couldn’t wait to get back to his hotel room and call Debbie with the update.

Rand didn’t leave, though. Chatting would encourage Lissa’s interest.

He explained how the Journal Room actually worked. “There’s a window with smoked glass, and I or one of my colleagues is sitting behind it. We interview each Fish without them seeing us. That way, we control the topics. The Fish are instructed to repeat the question before answering so it sounds like they thought of it on their own. With some Fish, we need to remind them every single journal entry,” he added, rolling his eyes.

She nodded. “I’ve wondered how many times you need to prod some of them before they get it right.” She narrowed her eyes. “What’s a fish prod called, do you suppose?”

“A harpoon,” he joked.

“With a rubber tip, surely. Wouldn’t the viewers notice if the Fish were being carted out in body bags?”

He laughed. “They’d be found floating at the top of the fishbowl, belly up and with X’s where their eyes had been.”

She managed to keep a straight face. “Look, I know you guys mine every fish pun and reference you can, but surely you don’t actually flush the losers down a toilet?”

“It would be tempting, with some of them,” he admitted. She’d ducked her head a little, letting her hair hide her smile, but Rand could tell he’d discovered the way in. Appeal to her sense of the absurd. He admonished himself to make haste slowly.

He finished his beer, then pulled a twenty from his wallet. “You’ve got my card, right?”

She nodded, all humor gone from her face. She even looked a little sad, disappointed that he was leaving.

Good, Rand thought. He wanted her to miss him.

“Lissa,” he said, sticking out his hand. “I hope I see you on
The Fishbowl
.”

“You mean, through a smoked-glass window.”

“Precisely,” Rand said. It would be fun to talk with her in the Journal Room. She was loads smarter than the average numb-nut they got. And he liked her.

Plus she’d be the prototype for his character’s love interest. Wasn’t going to be hard to show why a guy would fall for her. Not hard at all.

“After consultation with the other members of this Court, we find for the Petitioner.”