Power Play (22 page)

“But if you've got the talent—”

“It doesn't matter.”

“But other actors have made the jump from soaps to movies. Or the stage.”

“My angel,” said Gloria, cupping Monica's cheek, “for every Meg Ryan, there are one hundred other actors who leave daytime and find themselves starving or offered the most insulting roles imaginable. Why do you think so many return?”

Monica swallowed, closing her eyes. “I know. I just thought—”

“You'd finally be taken seriously?”

“Yes,” Monica whispered.

“Sit up.”

Monica did as Gloria said, rubbing her eyes, which now felt raw.

“You are taken seriously,” said Gloria sternly. “Your peers take you seriously. Your fans take you seriously. Don't you realize that until you stop letting
others
define success, you're never going to be happy?”

Monica glanced away, not knowing what to say. She knew Gloria was right.

“I know that the way you're feeling right now, you probably won't give a tinker's damn about this,” Gloria continued, “but I wanted to show you something, just in case you hadn't seen it.”

Gloria picked up the latest issue of
Soap World
and handed it to Monica. There were two pages of polls, ranking favorite characters for each of the shows. Monica was ranked the number one character on
W and F
, followed by Gloria, and then Royce. Chesty was sixth.

Monica looked up at Gloria. “Okay, that does help,” she admitted with the hint of a smile.

“Especially since Titty LaRue didn't even make the top three.”

Monica laughed.

“Feel better?”

“A bit.”

“Still going hot and heavy with that ice boy of yours?”

Monica blushed. “Yes.” Hot and heavy was the perfect way to describe it. Her patience ploy seemed to be working; it sometimes felt like she and Eric couldn't get enough of each other, both in and out of bed. She was now a fixture at, at least one Blades' home game a week, her name chanted with such affection by the fans that she always left the arena touched. She still got the sense that Eric was holding her at arm's length emotionally, but he'd come a long way. Even so, there was no way she was going to risk telling him she loved him. He was going to have to say it first.

“Why aren't you with him tonight?” Gloria asked.

“His team is away, playing on the West Coast.”

“Then let's you and I go out and wreak havoc,” Gloria said with a wicked glint in her eye.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Anything that doesn't involve my potentially breaking my hip.”

Monica chuckled. “C'mon. I'm sure we can figure something out.”

 

“Talk to Mom and Dad lately?”

The cautious tone in his brother's voice got Eric's full attention as they sat at the Blades' favorite bar, the Chapter House, nursing beers. Up until now, Eric had only been half listening anyway, his mind preoccupied with Monica. The press was still eating up their relationship, which was great. He was playing well, in part, he was sure, because she was his good luck charm. But their day-by-day thing had turned into a month-by-month thing, complete with “real” couple activities, like hanging around the apartment (usually hers) in their sweats watching TV and eating pizza, or else hanging out with Jason and Delilah at
their
apartment, doing much the same thing. He knew she was falling in love with him, and it was freaking him out. So were some other things that he didn't care to explore too closely. Too bad he couldn't talk to anyone about it.

Eric took a bite of a stale pretzel, chasing it with a sip of beer. “Dad left me a message, but I haven't had a chance to call him back yet.”

“Well, I talked to him last night.” Jason looked grim. “He and Mom turned down our offer for more money.”

Eric blinked. “Are you kidding me?”

“They said it was stupid, pouring that kind of money into a failing venture. They said we needed to keep our money for ‘our future.' ”

“Did you remind them of how much money we make?”

Jason frowned. “Of course I did. But you know Mom and Dad.”

“What happened to the farm being in the family for three generations and all that?” Eric heard the rising panic in his voice. He couldn't believe what an emotional subject this was for him.

“I think they're just tired,” Jason continued with a sigh. “Dad mentioned selling and he and Mom buying an RV and driving around the country in it.”

Eric could picture it. He'd never seen two people who got along as well as his parents, even after all these years. Sometimes the affection between them even made him uncomfortable. He and Jason recently had a really uncomfortable conversation about whether their folks still “did it,” a discussion they both swore never to repeat.

“An RV,” Eric mused. “They'd like that.”

“Anyway”—Jason took a long pull on his beer—“Delilah and I came up with an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“We're going to buy the farm from Mom and Dad.”

“Hear me out,” Jason said quickly, as if he were fearful Eric's gut reaction would be negative. “You know Delilah loves it out there. It could be our summer home—of course, you and Monica would be welcome to use the house whenever you wanted, too. We'd pay Mom and Dad way above the market value of the house, the cattle, and the equipment. They'd be in a really great financial position—
and
the land would remain in the family. What do you think?”

Eric mulled it over. “I think it's a great idea.”

“Are you upset?” Jason asked, looking at him with concern.

“No, of course not.” Eric paused. “Well, maybe a little. I'd like to feel like I was doing something more to help out. I grew up there, too, you know,” Eric reminded him testily as he reached for another stale pretzel.

“I didn't mean to insult you,” Jason apologized.

Eric clapped him on the back. “You didn't. Honestly. You just took me by surprise.”

“I know.”

“What if Mom and Dad won't go for it?”

“I think they will,” said Jason, finishing the last pretzel in the bowl and holding it up for the bartender to refill. “Especially if Delilah suggests it to them. They think Delilah walks on water. Monica, too,” he added significantly.

Eric ignored the comment, draining his beer.

“You two seem to be getting very serious,” Jason continued.

Eric just nodded.

“I have to say, I never thought I'd see you in a serious relationship, you know?”

Eric forced a smile.

“You guys up for a movie Thursday night?”

“Can't. I have to go to that charity ball for Ronald McDonald House, remember?”

“Is the Mrs. coming?” Jason teased.

Eric leveled him with an irked look. “Don't push it, okay?”

“Jesus, Eric, lighten up.” Jason threw a crumpled wad of bills on the bar. “So you're definitely okay with the house purchase?”

“Let's go in halves. That way I'll feel like I'm doing something.”

“No problem,” said Jason.

“You know, there aren't many people I know who want a summer place in North Dakota.”

“It's the right thing to do.”

“Totally,” said Eric. “I just hope Mom and Dad agree.”

 

Eric was one of the few Blades who actually enjoyed attending charity dinners. He knew he looked great in a tux, and he was always up for superficial glad-handing and schmoozing. But tonight he was in no mood to don his humanitarian persona. The Blades' road trip had been a disaster, the team losing three out of four games. He'd played like crap.

He knew he'd been unusually quiet on the ride with Monica to the Four Seasons, where the dinner was being held. When she told him about not getting the part in the play because of her work in daytime, he'd expressed genuine outrage on her behalf, but he couldn't maintain it for long. Within seconds he sank back into his own misery, worried about being subpar on the ice, worried about his parents' plight. “I'm sorry,” he told her, meaning it. “I'm just in a bad mood tonight. I'm sure I'll snap out of it once we get inside.”

Unfortunately, he didn't. They usually split up to mingle at these functions. But not tonight; tonight Monica was glued to his side, beaming at him with love that was all too real. Of course he was proud to be seen with her, but tonight's Velcro act was making him feel smothered. He was actually relieved when she excused herself to go to the bathroom.

“Can I say something?” said Ulfie, the minute Monica left the Blades table.

“Shoot,” said Eric.

“You're totally pussy whipped. It's like she's got you on a choke collar or something. Everywhere you go, she goes. You don't hang out with us that much anymore, dude. You're still an asshole, but you were a shitload more fun when you were a horn dog, my man.” Ulf shook his head sadly.

This wasn't what Eric wanted to hear right now. He turned to Thad, who'd been listening while trying to build a series of pyramids out of all the drink straws littering the table. “What do you think? You agree with Ulfie?”

Thad nodded. “Yeah, it's like you're boring now that you're not Mr. Tomcat.”

Eric began to panic. “You clowns don't get it, do you? It's not a serious relationship. It's just a status thing for me, same as every other hot chick I've ever bagged.”

“Yeah, but you were always done with those other chicks pretty quick. This thing has been going on for months,” noted Thad, giving up on his architectural efforts.

“Of course it has,” said Eric, “because she's the hottest thing on two legs. What kind of an idiot would pass up that kind of opportunity? Admit it, she's the best piece of eye candy I've ever nailed, right?”

“You got that right,” said Ulf.

“I don't
care
about her,” Eric scoffed. “All that's mattered to me is that I've been banging Monica Geary. If I can keep getting laid by the most gorgeous woman in daytime, why not just let it roll on?”

Thad coughed uncomfortably, his eyes cutting quickly to the left. Eric turned. The hottest thing on two legs was standing not two feet away.

SIXTEEN

“Get the hell away from me.”

Monica wanted to run. Sprint away from the asshole who'd just told his friends she was nothing more than a status symbol for him. Tear into the night and hop into the nearest cab, telling the driver to get her home as fast as he could so she could relieve her heaving stomach and puke her guts up. But she couldn't run; her heels were too high; she'd break her neck. So instead, she was storming away from Eric the best she could, but it wasn't fast enough; Eric caught her arm before she'd even reached the hotel's front doors.

“Monica, listen to me.”

She jerked her arm from his light grasp. “I just did, you asshole.”

She wouldn't look at him, because she knew what she'd see in those blue eyes: the false bullshit sincerity he'd been laying on her for months. She could hear his voice in her head:
Of course I care about you—the real you.
Fuck him. She'd talked herself into believing he cared about her, Monica Geary the woman, when all he cared about was Monica Geary the image. She wished she could spit in his face. Truly. She would never forgive Theresa for suggesting this little ruse, never. And she would never forgive herself for thinking she could be the one to change him. Surprise, surprise: superficial Eric was the
real
Eric; caring Eric was the part he played. Some student of human behavior she was.

“All I ask is a minute,” Eric begged.

“Why? So you can hand me some line of bullshit and tell me that what you told your friends wasn't true?” She felt herself becoming tearful and suppressed it. She was an actress, goddammit. She would cover her pain with anger and indignation.

“I exaggerated to my friends. I had to save face with them.”

“And what a job you did of it,” Monica sneered. “Throwing me under the bus, making me look like some kind of desperate loser.”

“I apologize for that,” Eric said sincerely.

Monica snorted. “You think I care?”

“I know you do.” He looked like he felt sorry for her. She wondered what would happen if she kicked him in the balls, watching him crumple in pain and humiliation right there in the lobby. God knows he deserved it.

“You are such a jerk, you know that?” She was talking louder than she intended. Heads were beginning to turn. She concentrated on lowering her voice; the last thing she needed was a story in the press about her having a hissy fit.

“This is over,” Monica declared. “You've saved face. Now get the hell
away
from me.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” Eric insisted softly. Monica suppressed a flinch of pain as she watched the expression on his face change from sincere to defensive. “We entered this purely as a business agreement, remember? I shouldn't have let it go any further.”

“Oh, right, I forgot,” Monica replied sarcastically. “When you told me you cared about me, the real me, that was just an act, right? Even though there was no public there to witness it. Gotcha.”

“We'd agreed at the beginning it would end at some point,” Eric continued.

“And now it has,” Monica shot back airily. “So why don't you go back inside to your stupid jock friends and tell them another lie: that you just dumped me, when in reality, I just dumped you.”