Justin rounded the corner of the pool house as she headed down the path. “Hey there.”
Pointing to the phone, she shrugged an apology, though relief flooded through her. After last night, she wanted to give Justin a wide berth.
“What’s the emergency, Zin?”
“Have you gone mad? There’s no emer-- Ah. Someone’s there?”
Feigning concern, she walked on. “Extremely.”
The door to the editing room opened, and she turned to see him disappear inside. Chuckling, she walked on. “You saved me again.”
“What the hell is going on in that little aspiring-to-be-reality show?”
“I now know how Alice felt when she fell through the rabbit hole. Everything’s growing curioser and curioser.”
“Don’t sample any bottles labeled ‘drink me’. And don’t keep me in suspense. What’s up?”
“Weirdness. Justin, the camera guy.”
“But Justin’s a diversion?”
“He’s kinda cute in a British-hangdog kind of way, but a little overbearing.” She relayed the events of the previous night.
“Sounds like a creep.”
Billie feared the same, though he also represented her only friend here. “So tell me about you and Caleb.” She needed some good news for a change.
“Not much to tell. I’ve been busy, he’s been busy, neither the twain have met.” Frustration crackled through the phone.
So much for happy news. “You’ll get your groove back.”
“Maybe.”
Or maybe not, if Zinta’s abrupt change of subject provided any insight. Seemed like more than a mere slump.
Billie found herself outside the path to Jet’s studio. “I understand.” More than Zin knew. She’d wrestled thoughts of Jet away since last night.
“Right. Well, what’s on your happy little agenda today?”
Billie sighed. “Interviewing the Bimbo Babes.”
Zin chuckled. “A mindless exercise.”
“A few might surprise me. Julie, for instance. She doesn’t fit the profile. And Cat, though interviewing her might require a little self-defense.”
“Sharp claws?”
“Very.” The way she looked at Billie, she wanted to use those claws on her.
“If she attacks, squirt hairspray into her eyes.”
“I’ll keep a can handy.” Though she’d have to borrow one. She’d long ago abandoned attempts to keep her long layers in check. They flowed as they wished without restraint. One less thing to pack, anyway. “What about you?”
“Lucky me, I’ll be speaking with Justin Timberlake.” She spoke with the enthusiasm of the condemned.
“Hey, he makes a hilarious Gibb brother.”
“I’ll ask him to do an impression for me.”
After Zin said goodbye, Billie retraced her steps to the cottage. Research had turned up little on any of the contestants except Julie, a college student working toward a degree in communications, making her the biggest puzzle. Still, if any of the others had a shady past, Billie hoped to coax some clues from them. If Ashley had been a dancer, she probably used a stage name to keep her true identity a secret.
At ten minutes to five, she opened her messenger bag and tossed in the digital recorder, camera, a fresh steno pad and pen. Slipping a white blouse over her silky tank top and slacks, she pulled her hair back loosely into a barrette. Maybe it would help put them at ease if she appeared more frumpish.
Except for Cindy speaking on her cell at the back of the hall, the house seemed deserted. Ascending the stairs, Billie steeled herself.
Behind the last door, the women shrieked and squabbled. With a steadying breath, she went inside.
Three vanities lined the walls, lit with megawatt bulbs forcing the air conditioner to strain. Cat, Ashley and Brianna sat at the vanities applying makeup.
“Jet looked so hot last night.” “My makeup’s smeared already.” “Do you think Stu would mind if I had a wardrobe malfunction?”
No one responded to any comment, making Billie wonder if they all babbled rhetorically. The only voice not in the cacophony was Julie’s. She sat on the bed bent over a book.
With the camera off, maybe they’d allow their true selves to speak rather than their personas. Some, like Ashley, appeared so malleable, so willing to adapt to whatever the producers and Jet wanted, it made Billie wonder if they’d ever truly defined themselves. Or if they knew the true cost to themselves of adapting so easily.
Billie forced a smile. “So, ladies. How’s it going?”
In the mirror, Cat’s gaze met hers. “Look who it is. The
Strung Out
bitch.” She stroked the makeup brush across her cheek.
Definite frost in the room, and not just the air conditioner. “Got a few minutes? For some girl talk?” Hopefully that sounded sincere. Girl talk never held much appeal, but she’d have to feign an interest.
“Why?” Brianna gripped the back of her padded slipper chair. “So you can write awful things about us too?” With the regal harrumph of a princess, she turned back to the mirror.
Uh-oh. They’d aligned themselves against her, on the Jet Team. “’Course not. I’d love to hear what you think about the show. About Jet. About each other.” In saying the last, she tensed, ready to duck if necessary. Tensions on the set ebbed and flowed, always with an undercurrent that made it seem as if it could turn on a dime to sheer nastiness. To have the full force of it aimed at her might prove fatal.
Ashley lifted her chin, stared at her image. “Jet is a sweetheart. He deserves better treatment.”
Pen poised, Billie asked, “From the producer?”
Brianna whirled. “No. Duh--you!”
“I treat him well.” She had to turn this conversation around quick.
Glaring, Cat paused her makeup application. “You called him a has-been.”
“A washout,” Ashley said.
“A joke.” Cat’s glare held an icy gleam.
“Help me see another side of him. What do you think of him?” Billie drew her digital recorder and clicked it on. “Ashley, you’re from North Carolina, correct? What brings you to the show?”
Her blue eyes wide, Ashley’s face blanked. “Jet, of course. I’ve loved his music for years.”
Billie moved closer, hoping they’d open up more. “It’s the same music from years ago. How do you feel about that?”
Blinking, Ashley shrugged. “It’s still good.”
“It rocks,” Brianna interjected.
“Brianna, you’re from New Jersey?” Billie sat on the edge of the bed.
Chin tilted up, lips pursed, she stroked mascara on her lashes. “Yes.”
“You left the Garden State for this?” Partly a joke. Most Jerseyites Billie knew left for any reason possible.
“No, I left years ago to study acting. I’ve been waitressing to pay the bills. Until now.”
“So the show’s lucrative for you?” The winner would gain a hundred grand, but what did each contestant receive?
“More than waitressing,” Amber said.
“Not much,” Julie muttered.
Definite disappointment surfacing there. And a conversational in with the quiet one. “Julie, you’re from Montana?”
The girl slouched farther on the bed. “Yes.”
“A college grad. Impressive. What major?”
Fingering her bookmark, she glanced up. “Communications.”
“Really? A journalist in the making.”
Julie turned back to her book. “We’ll see.”
“Why are you here?” Obviously, she could do much better for herself pursuing an actual career rather than a virtual one.
Pinning her smooth hair behind her ear, she shrugged. “I tried out and got the call. Seemed like a good experience.”
“So you’re not into Jet? Or his music?”
“I didn’t say that. I tried out for the same reasons as everyone else.”
Sirens went off in Billie’s head. This girl didn’t belong here. To regain a conversational foothold, she made her voice casual. “Longtime fan? You want to sleep with him?”
“I do.” Ashley’s enthusiasm nearly choked her. “He’s hotter now than ever.”
“You don’t mind he’s at ‘rock bottom’?” Billie’s fingers arced quotation marks.
Cat slammed her brush atop the vanity. “It’s just the name of the show. Not a description of Jet.”
Now she’d have to tread softly. “True, but didn’t they name it that because Jet’s there now? To help him up from the bottom?”
Ashley stood. “No. He sounds great. He works really hard at his music.”
Billie shrugged. “Most musicians do. It doesn’t mean they all deserve air play.”
“And he really loves it.” Brianna pouted. “He pours his heart out into every song.”
Clasping her hands, Ashley sighed. “I know. When he’s at the microphone, every emotion’s right there on his face. It makes me want to rush up and grab him.”
Billie’d said the same things to her girlfriends--in high school. She wouldn’t be trading doe-eyed comments over cocktails with these women anytime soon. “So is that part of the show’s premise?”
The women exchanged confused, if overly made up, glances.
Time for a different approach. “When you’re on a date, what happens when the cameras stop rolling? Is it anything goes?”
The glances they exchanged seemed filled with suspicion.
“Are you not allowed to discuss it?” Billie prompted.
“Oh, we’re allowed.” Ashley flipped her hair behind her shoulder.
Cat arched a brow. “We just don’t.”
“So you have a code of honor for when the camera stops filming?” Billie hoped she didn’t sound condescending.
Cat crossed her legs. “Not exactly.” Her cutting tone sounded as dangerous as her long spiked heels appeared.
Now Billie understood. “Oh. You’re holding out on each other. Why?”
Ashley appeared moony. “It would become hurtful.”
“Vicious,” Amber added, her tone hinting she wouldn’t mind being the first to try it.
“Julie? What about you?”
“Exactly. What they said.” Shoving the book inside the backpack, she stood. “Excuse me.”
“Me too.” Cat rose, still primping her hair.
“Yes, we have to dress now,” Ashley said with the snideness of a teenager.
Brianna glanced up as she followed the others.
“Maybe we can continue some other…time.”
The door closed, and laughter erupted outside.
Interview over. But not the intrigue. Julie stood out among this group, her natural beauty enhanced with little makeup, her clothes well-fitting but not skin-tight, her quiet intelligence a definite juxtaposition to the loud shallow-minded girls. Definitely not trying as hard as the others.
Billie would have to do a little more digging. On all of them.
* * * *
Jet emerged from the office, Stu in tow, droning on, he had no clue about what. He hesitated when the contestants’ voices drifted down the stairs. They swarmed into the kitchen, and he grasped the railing and turned to Stu. “Sounds great, but right now, I have to catch up on some things.”
Hearing the door open upstairs, he readied to flee but stilled at the sight of Billie descending.
“Your interview with the girls go well?” Stu folded his arms across his chest.
Pausing at the bottom of the steps, she dropped the recorder into her bag. “Yes, very well.” Her gaze flicked up to his.
Something electric zipped across his skin. “Don’t I get to finish our interview?”
Surprise showed in her parted lips, her steady gaze. She recovered quickly. “Absolutely. Whenever you have time.”
“I always have time for a one-on-one.” His attempt to lighten the air between them fell flat.
She gave a thin smile. “Whenever you’re ready, let me know.”
“Tonight. I’ll take you to dinner.” And straighten things out once and for all.
“No need. Anywhere away from the cameras will be fine.” She glanced at Stu.
Stu shrugged. “It’s a reality show. They follow wherever.”
“You have a show to do. And I need an exclusive.” She appeared confused about his change of heart.
He hoped to clear the confusion. Approaching with arms wide, he grinned. “I’m exclusively yours.”
Stu followed. “Jet--”
“Stu, a few hours away won’t make a damn bit of difference. You have plenty of drama right here to keep the cameramen busy.”
She hastily said, “No dinner. Please. A restaurant might prove too distracting, what with all your fans asking for autographs.”
He shifted closer. “I know a little place where no one will disturb us. And a band’s playing tonight I’ve been wanting to see.”
“It’ll be too noisy.” Eyeing him, she tilted her head. “What band?”
“You’ll love them.” He didn’t need to name them. He had her. She was as eager to ditch this place as he was.
Defeat weighed her voice. “All right.”
“All right,” he repeated. “Nine o’clock. I promise I won’t keep you up too late.”
“Okay.” Confusion clouded her face, and she hesitated before moving away.
Of course he’d remembered. He thought of it every night when he played in his studio, and the light in her cottage winked out.
* * * *
“I must be crazy.” Searching through her meager wardrobe, Billie waited for Zinta to argue otherwise.
“Let me get this straight. You’re going out with him?”
She held up a white top, and discarded it. Too plain. “No. I’m interviewing him, and he’s taking me to hear a band.”
“Sounds like he’s taking you out. Is he driving you there?”
Oh, geez. She hadn’t thought about that. “I guess.”
“What time are you leaving?”
“Nine.” She laid a silky black top on the bed. Too sexy.
“Sounds like a date to me.”
“No. It’s an interview.” She was ninety-nine percent certain of it. Why else would he take her away from here if not to glom onto the blog spotlight?
“At a club? Billie, please.”
“I’ll start it on the way there. It’ll be good to see him away from here. This place is so…oppressive. Everyone’s always so guarded.” Or over the top, in a staged way. Every move calculated ahead of time. It irked her. While the cameras rolled, no one voiced a sincere off-the-cuff comment.
“So you’re observing him in various environments? Now you’re a cultural anthropologist?”
“It’s part of what we do, isn’t it? He got so excited about this band, I couldn’t say no.”
“What band?”
She checked her notes. It couldn’t be. “Uhhh…”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“He mentioned the name. It didn’t ring a bell.” Why lie? To Zin? She always came clean with her friend.