Fame (8 page)

The conversation there would keep her interested, and she would never take her eyes off him. Sure, she’d look in other directions so people wouldn’t catch on.

But even when her back was to him, she could see him, sense him. He could be twenty feet away surrounded by women, but still she could feel his 56

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breath against her face. The breath of the man she was married tO.

Dayne Matthews.

“Are you sure you should wait here?” Anna tapped her on the shoulder and stared at her. “If he’s your husband, he’ll come out and find you and the two of you can go home.”

“He is my husband, okay!” Chloe hissed the words at her sister. “He’s my husband, and I’ll sit here as long as I like.”

Anna laughed, a long, cackling laugh. The laugh of a witch. “Hey, there he is, Your dream boy.” She pointed. “Take a look.”

Chloe spun around and glanced out the window. Anna was right. Dayne was leaving Ruby’s with that prostitute on his arm, that no-good Kelly Parker. She tightened her hands into fists and slammed them against the steering wheel. A string of expletives fired through her lips at the image they made, two of Hollywood’s biggest and brightest stars, sneaking out of Ruby’s, believing that for a single moment maybe people weren’t watching. “Stupid people,” Chloe spat. “Of course we’re watching.”

“You might be watching.” Anna laughed again. “But I don’t believe he’s your husband. Not for a minute.”

Chloe jerked herself around and glared at her sister. “He is my husband. I told you that before.”

“Then where do you keep him? Why haven’t I seen you together?” She flicked her finger at Chloe’s arm, “It’s because you’re a liar, Chloe. A crazy liar.”

Her mouth felt dry, so Chloe ran her tongue along her lower lip. “Where do I keep him?” Inside her, a pounding started up, loud and strong and steady. A familiar pounding, one that made her want to reach out and-“There they go, the lovebirds!” Anna’s laugh grew more wicked than before.

“You’re a nutcase, Sister. Anyone ever tell you that? A nutcase.”

Chloe turned once more and watched Dayne and Kelly Parker disappear around the corner. “I know where he’s going. I could

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be there before him.” She started the engine of her car and pushed the gas pedal. Again and again she pushed it, but the Civic didn’t move a bit.

“Wine,” she said. “Anna, give me a glass of wine.”

“Not till you tell me where you keep him. Where does this husband of yours live?

I mean—” she brushed a piece of lint off her shoulder—”I’m always with you, Chloe. And I’ve never seen your husband spend so much as a day with you.”

“You just don’t look careful enough.” Chloe stared at her sister, and then in a sudden motion she slapped her hard against her cheek. “I… I keep him in the glove box,”

Anna’s eyes were blazing now. “He’s not in your glove box— he’s with Kelly Parker.” She leaned closer, sneering at Chloe. “Spend a day with him; then I’ll believe you.”

For a moment, Chloe held her breath. Two decades of hatred and anger and poisonous venom had built in her heart. This time she slapped Anna across the other cheek, harder than she’d ever slapped her before. “I’ll spend a day with him; you’ll see, Dayne Matthews is my husband. I’ll prove it to you.”

“You’re a crazy spinster, Chloe. You’d have to be beautiful like me to have Dayne Matthews as your husband.”

Chloe felt in her pocket for the knife, the one she kept with her all the time.

In case she needed to defend Dayne or force him into the car with her. Her hand wrapped snug around the handle, her eyes tearing into her sister’s, “Don’t tell me what I have to—”

There was a sharp knock on the window, and Chloe froze. Casual, act casual. She angled her body so she was facing the driver’s-side window. Outside stood a police officer, a scowl on his face.

She had to roll down her window—he wouldn’t settle for anything less. And Dayne was far enough away now that it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t hear her heartbeat, not even with it screaming ih her temples and echoing through the inside of the Honda.

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Smile, she told herself. You have to smile. She felt the corners of her lips lift as she cranked the window all the way down. “Uh, hello, Officer. Can I help you?”

He frowned at her and stooped down, looking past her toward the passenger seat and the back of the car. “We had reports you were yelling at someone.” He straightened back up and pulled a notepad from his pocket. “Were you in some sort of trouble, ma’am?”

“Not at all, Officer. Just chatting with my sister.”

The man took a step back and raised his brow a bit. “Okay.” He looked inside her car again. “Can I get your driver’s license, please? I need to make a report.”

“My license?” Her mouth was dry again. That, and Dayne Matthews was getting away. He couldn’t leave Ruby’s with Kelly Parker. What would happen if the two of them got together again? It could be weeks before he came back to his senses and went home to her. She glanced toward the side street, the one where Dayne and Kelly would come out from if they were headed back to his house.

“Ma’am, can you please hurry?” The officer poised his pen above the notepad. “I need your license.”

“Oh.” She felt her composure returning. “Right. I’m sorry. I was thinking about my sister.” Chloe pulled her designer purse from the seat beside her and began rummaging through it. After several seconds, she smiled up at the officer and batted her eyelashes. “Wouldn’t you know it? I left it in my other purse.” She tilted her head, doing her best to look demure and alluring. “I’m so sorry, Officer. Would you like to follow me home so I can show it to you?” She gestured down the road. “I live just a few miles from here—up in the hills.”

The officer hesitated for a minute. “What’s your name?” “Margie. Margie Madden.”

“Well, the report was that you were maybe in trouble, screaming at someone.”

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Chloe gave a light laugh, reached out, and patted the officer’s arm. “Sir, now do I look upset about anything? Like I said, I was chatting with my sister.”

“Where is she?”

Chloe’s heart beat louder, faster. Why, she was sitting right beside her, wasn’t she? But a quick turn toward the passenger seat told her the answer. Maybe she’d already left. Maybe she really had been looking for her and not Dayne Matthews.

She smiled at the police officer again. “She’s doing some shopping. That’s why I’m here, just waiting for her.”

The officer narrowed his eyes and moved closer. Then he stooped down and stared at her cheek. “Ma’am, has someone hurt you recently?”

“No, sir.” She smoothed her shirt and set her purse back on the seat beside her.

Her heartbeat fell silent and slow. “I told you, everything’s fine.”

“Have you seen your face lately?” The man moved in closer still, scrutinizing her cheeks. “Looks like someone slapped you pretty hard.”

Chloe felt the blood drain from her face. Someone had slapped her? Was it Anna or was it Dayne? Maybe it was Kelly Parker. She swallowed hard. “Must be the heat, Officer.”

After a few seconds the officer nodded. He didn’t look quite convinced, but he put the pad of paper away. “All right.” He looked down the street as if he expected to see her sister returning to the Civic. He studied Chloe one last time. “If everything’s okay, I won’t make a report. Let us know if you need assistance. And if you’re too hot, I’d keep the windows down from now on. It’s in the nineties today.”

“Right. Very good, Officer.” She nodded at him. “Thank you, sir.” She watched him go, felt her body react with every step he took away from her, the beat of her heart speeding up, pounding loud the way it had before.

She had to get out of here, had to find Dayne before he did 60

something stupid. The press would catch wind of it, and she’d never hear the end of it from Anna.

Someone was laughing at her again, and she turned toward the passenger seat.

Anna was back. “See, you’re nothing but a crazy liar, Dayne’s gone off with Kelly Parker. You’ve never even met the man.”

“Stop it!” Chloe yelled, then reached out to slap her sister one last time. But her hand caught only air and the dashboard. She rubbed her stinging fingertips on her jeans and lifted her eyes to

Anna again. “Now look what you’ve made me do, you—”

Her sister was gone.

The entire car shook with the sound of her heartbeat, and Chloe held her breath to make it go away. She was alone and she needed to leave, needed to find Dayne now. She stepped on the gas again, but the car stayed where it was, unmoving. It was only then that she caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror.

The police officer was right. Across her cheeks were bright red marks in a very distinct pattern. Sometime in the past half hour someone had slapped her. She looked down and realized

why she wasn’t going anywhere.

The car was still in park.

She slipped it into gear, checked her mirror again, and pulled out into traffic.

Dayne’s house, that’s where she needed to be. Maybe he could tell her what happened to her face and who would have had the nerve to slap her not once across the face.

But twice.

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THE DiNNER WAS Jenny Flanigan’s idea.

She and her husband Jim, were in charge of the sets for CKT’s upcoming Tom Sawyer production, and until a day earlier they were the only people on the committee. But yesterday she took a call from her good friend Kari Taylor, who said that her artist sister, Ashley, wanted to help paint sets.

Jenny was thrilled at the news. She contacted Ashley and the two hit it off.

“My husband wants to help also.” Ashley’s tone held a trace of humor. “He told me to tell you he could paint brown walls.” She lowered her voice, as if the next part were top secret. “Landon’s a firefighter. He’s used to tearing down plywood, not painting it.”

“I understand.” Jenny laughed. “My husband’s a football coach. Same thing, but that’s all right. We’ll show them what to do.” She thought a minute. “Hey, why don’t you and Landon come for a barbecue tomorrow night? We can talk about sets and what’s involved, get to know each other a little.”

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later that afternoon accepting the offer. Now she and Landon and their son, Cole, would be here in fifteen minutes.

Some country song played from the computer in the study as Jenny seasoned a tray of raw hamburger patties. Next she fanned the sliced cheese on a plate, easy to grab, just the way Jim liked it. The salad was chopped and covered, the watermelon sliced and in the refrigerator.

She looked out the window as she washed her hands. All six kids were outside splashing and laughing and playing a game of tag in the pool. It was the perfect day for a barbecue, eighty-five and nothing but sunshine.

Jenny took a few steps toward the entryway and the stairs that led to the bedrooms. “Jim, time to start the fire.”

“Be right down.” His voice filled the house with a rich warmth. Jenny smiled as she headed back to the kitchen. The barbecue would be a welcome distraction from the roller coaster of emo tions that had hit the Flanigan household since auditions for the play. Monday night had been pure jubilation, with both Connor and Bailey getting callbacks for the second day of auditions. But after Tuesday’s limited tryout, the cast list was posted that night on CKT’s Web site, and the results sent emotions spiraling in opposite directions.

Connor was happy. He had earned the part of Joe Harper, Tom Sawyer’s sidekick.

It was a major role with multiple speak ing lines and solo parts in three songs.

But Bailey’s part was something much smaller. She was a townsperson, a nondescript ensemble member who would help make up the background during full-cast scenes, town picnics, and a few song-and-dance numbers.

Tim Reed was Tom Sawyer, Sarah Jo Stryker was Becky Thatcher, and Ashley Zarelli won the part of Aunt Polly.

Jenny took the ketchup and mustard from the fridge and placed them on a blue-and-white plastic tray. It had hurt so much to watch Bailey check the cast list that day. She’d sat in the

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computer chair, Connor looking over her shoulder, as she navigated the mouse to the right page.

“Well, find it!” Connor had hopped in place, his eyes wide. “Hurry, Bailey, it’s gotta be there.”

“I’m trying.” Her eyes had darted down the list not once but twice. Then, without bursting into tears or even complaining, she slowly pushed the chair back, stood, and hugged Connor. “Congratulations, buddy. You deserve it.”

Then she trudged up the stairs, one slow step at a time. Jenny let her go and spent the next five minutes calling Jim and the other Flanigan kids into the room to celebrate Connor’s part. Finally Connor grabbed the phone and raised one eyebrow. “I have to call Tim.”

Jenny remembered everything about what happened next. She had dismissed the four younger boys back to the kickball game they’d been playing outside. Then she headed up the stairs after Bailey. With quiet steps she made her way down the hall to Bailey’s room, praying for the right words.

She knocked a couple of times on her daughter’s door. “Bailey?”

“Yes?” Her voice had been thick, muffled. “Come in.”

Jenny went inside and found her place on the edge of Bailey’s bed, the place where they often held late-night talks, sometimes into the early morning hours.

Bailey stared straight ahead, silent tears sliding down her cheeks onto her pillow.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Jenny had brushed a lock of hair off her daughter’s forehead.

“What I can’t figure out is why they called me back.” She propped herself up, searching Jenny’s eyes. “I danced better than anyone there, Mom. I promise.” She rolled her eyes. “And that Mrs. Stryker, she sent her daughter in this.., this yellow dress. Almost like she’d made it just for the Tom Sawyer play.” She uttered a single laugh, but it held not a bit of humor. “I thought Katy didn’t like pushy people.”

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Jenny winced. “Sweetheart, it’s not Sarah Jo’s fault if her mother’s pushy. You wouldn’t expect Katy to take that out on a child.”