Power Play (26 page)

Gloria looked wistful. “We worked together quite a bit in the early days, Monica. I don't know if you knew that.”

“Yes, you told me that.” Monica could picture it: two acting powerhouses feeding off each other's energy. It must have been magnificent.

“We were the best of friends. We respected each other and helped each other get parts.

“Even though Monty preferred treading the boards to anything else, when an opportunity fell into his lap to direct a film version of
Othello
, he jumped at it. Who wouldn't? He phoned right away and said he wanted me to play Desdemona. I'd played the role onstage in London two years before and had gotten rave reviews. I was thrilled.

Gloria's eyes looked glassy. “We'd just started filming when one of the executive producers came to Monty and told him he wanted his floozy in the part rather than me. This girl could not act, Monica. She could barely put together a sentence. And so, Monty fired me.”

“Oh, Gloria.” Monica came to sit beside her.

Gloria's voice turned vehement. “The entire cast urged him to show some backbone and stand up to the producer, but he wouldn't. He kept saying he had no choice. But he
did
have a choice: he chose to protect himself rather than stand up for me.

“A few weeks later another producer visited the set and saw what an atrocity this girl was. He told Monty he was an idiot, that all he needed to have done was come to him and tell him what was going on, and he would have read the other producer the riot act. In the end the movie never got finished, and I never trusted Monty again.” Gloria pointed a warning finger at Monica. “Always watch your back. People in this business, even those who claim to be your closest friends, will kick you in the teeth if it means saving their own skin or furthering their career.”

“Not everyone,” Monica murmured, leaning over to kiss the side of Gloria's powdery cheek. “You wouldn't.”

Gloria chuckled sadly. “I'm too old to do you much harm.” Gloria patted Monica's hand. “I'm sorry I told you that about Monty. I know you love him.”

“It's okay,” said Monica, though the story did make her feel ashamed of Monty. She took a deep breath. “Gloria, have you ever thought of forgiving Monty? It was a long time ago.”

“I don't forgive, and I don't forget,” Gloria declared, nostrils flaring. Monica didn't push it. When Gloria flared her nostrils, it was best to back off.

Gloria rose creakily from the bed. “I need to walk off some of my irritation at the sheer stupidity of this weekend. Care to join me?”

“I think I'll pass,” said Monica. “I just want to close my eyes for a few minutes to fortify myself for whatever horrors are to come.”

“You know,” said Gloria, posing at the door, “you haven't said a word about your split from Eric.”

“There's nothing to say,” said Monica, lying down on her own bed and putting a cool pillow over her forehead. “He turned out to be a jerk like every other man I've ever dated.”

“That's too bad,” Gloria murmured sympathetically. “He really seemed to adore you.” When Monica didn't respond, Gloria let it drop. “Pleasant dreams. If I'm not back when the fun and games resume, assume I've hurled myself overboard. I've always thought burial at sea was romantic.”

Monica laughed and closed her eyes.

 

Two minutes later, there was a gentle rapping at the cabin door, prompting Monica to pull her pillow down over her face. Maybe whoever it was would go away if they thought no one was in there. Rap, rap, rap; no such luck. It was time to screen; if it was Royce or Chesty, she had a migraine. If it was Jimmy, she'd let him in.

“Who is it?” she called out groggily, a nice touch. Maybe whoever it was would feel guilty for waking her, and they'd leave quickly.

“It's Christian Larkin, Monica. I was hoping I might speak with you.”

Shit,
Monica mouthed to herself, sitting up. What could Christian possibly want with her? Could he tell she was lying in the “rap” circle? No, no way. She was Monica Geary; her acting had been impeccable.

“Just a minute.” She stood, smoothing her hair, not wanting to look like a complete wreck. She opened the cabin door, trying to look welcoming. “Come in.”
You pain in the neck,
she finished in her head.

Christian smiled broadly, closing the cabin door behind him. “My God,” he said, looking around. “They've stuck you in a room the size of broom closet. As soon as I leave here, I'll fix that.”

“There's no need.” The truth was, apart from the dollhouse-sized window, the cozy cabin was okay. As long as she had a place to lay her head and a decent roommate, she was fine.

Monica noticed that the cabin had become somewhat chilly. Of course, Christian was clueless; he was wearing a bulky cable-knit sweater that nearly came down to his knees.
Short men shouldn't wear oversized sweaters,
thought Monica. It made him look even more diminutive than he was. In fact, he appeared about three feet tall, and with his wiry orange hair, he could have passed for a homunculus of Carrot Top.

“So,” said Monica, rubbing her arms for warmth, “what can I do for you?”

“What can you do for me indeed,” Christian murmured thoughtfully. “That is the question.” He pointed to Gloria's bed. “May I sit?”

“Of course.”

Damn damn double damn.
Monica had blown her chance for escape. She should have told him she wasn't feeling well and asked if they could talk another time, rather than asking him what she could do for him. He might have gotten annoyed, but she'd have at least delayed the conversation.

He patted the bed beside him. “Sit, sit.”

“This is fine.” Monica sat down on her bed opposite him.

“Well.” Christian clasped his hands and put them between his knees, leaning forward. “Let me start by telling you that I am absolutely, without a doubt, your biggest fan.”

“Thank you.” Monica felt a small flutter of panic tickle her insides.

“And you're incredibly beautiful.” He came and sat beside her, despite the warning vibes Monica hoped she was emitting, his eyes raking her body. “I think we'll make quite a team, both on and off the set.” He leisurely lifted a strand of her hair. “I'm thinking of asking the new head writer to beef up Roxie's story line even more.” He lifted his eyes to hers, kissing her hair.

Monica jerked away from him. “You're disgusting.” Bounding off the bed, she flung open the cabin door. “Get the hell out. Now.”

Christian laughed softly. “I wouldn't say no so fast, Monica. I'm sure you've heard about my ‘prowess,' as they say.”

Yeah, I've heard you come in three seconds flat,
Monica wanted to say, even though she'd heard no such thing. Over the years, she'd had lots of men in the industry come on to her, but this was the first one who'd ever tried to talk her into sex as a means of furthering her career. She was shaking inside, she was so angry. She bit down on her tongue to keep herself from snarling every invective she could think of at him.

“Get out,” Monica repeated.

Christian rose from the bed. “I really wish you'd think about this, Monica,” he said.

He paused at the door, leaning in to touch her cheek, but Monica recoiled. “So beautiful,” he murmured with a sad sigh as Monica jerked her head away. She slammed and locked the door behind him, her stomach heaving. Maybe Gloria was wrong; maybe bad things happened in fours, not threes. She checked her watch. Half an hour until naptime was done, and she had to face that pig again. At least she would be in a group. His face had gotten so close to hers . . . she shuddered. A rogue thought entered her mind: if Eric knew, he'd kick his ass. She laughed; it came out more like a bark, actually. That would be a bright move: have your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—threaten your boss. Still, imagining it was pleasurable.

She was saved from sinking further into thoughts of her onetime hero by the sudden reappearance of Gloria, rubbing her gloved hands together, her aquiline nose red as a cherry.

“Jove's tits! Do you have any idea how cold it is out there?!”

“Christian was just in here. He implied that if I sleep with him, he'd beef up Roxie's part.”

“Typical,” said Gloria, peeling off her floor-length fur coat. “I hope you told him to shove it up his nose.”

“Of course I did.”

“Good girl. Don't worry about him; he's nothing but a boil on the backside of humanity. He won't last a year.” Gloria pulled a flask from the pocket of her coat. “Now. Let's get nice and warm before we go back to having to do those idiotic group exercises.” She paused. “I wonder if anyone brought any pot.”

“Gloria!”

“Fine, fine, we'll make do with Jameson.” She unscrewed the flask, took a sip, and handed it to Monica. “To acting with honor and dignity.”

“I second that,” said Monica, the whiskey burning a trail down her throat before turning into a warm glow in her belly. She might not have Eric, but she did have Gloria and Monty. For now, it would have to do.

 

“You really sucked out there, Mitcho.”

Eric fought the urge to turn around and snap, “No shit,” to Ulfie as the Blades left the ice following another defeat, this time to Washington. Ulf was right; he had sucked—again. The Met Gar crowd agreed. After they failed to capitalize on their fifth power play, some of the fans had started chanting “Mitcho sucks!” His confidence had taken a major hit, especially when Ty didn't put him on the ice for the power play in the third period.

“You gotta hook up with Monica again,” said Tully Webster as they trudged to the locker room. “Since you two split up and she's not coming to games anymore—”

“—you're sucking,” Ulfie finished for him.

Eric frowned incredulously. “I love you guys, okay? But how many times are you gonna tell me I suck? I know I suck. Do you think repeating it over and over again is going to make me
not
suck?”

“Ooh, someone is on the rag,” said Thad.

“You're a fucking idiot, you know that?”

Thad stopped. “You wanna take this outside, Mitcho?”

“Where?” Eric jeered. “Back on the ice?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Team peacemaker David “Hewsie” Hewson stepped between them. “Let it go, guys. We're all just pissed off.”

Thad hung his head apologetically. “Hewsie's right.” He extended his hand to Eric. “Sorry, Mitcho.”

“It's fine,” said Eric, returning the shake. They continued into the locker room.

“Can I just say one thing?” Thad said cautiously after a small spell of silence.

Jesus Christ, will you let it go?
Eric thought. “Sure,” he made himself say.

“Since you dumped Monica, you haven't gone back to being the old horn dog we knew. No offense, but you're still being kind of boring, the way you were when you were with her.”

“He's right,” Ulfie chimed in. “All hockey and no pussy makes Mitcho a dull boy.”

“I'm trying to show her a little respect, okay? She's devastated. If I start bagging babes right away, she might go off the deep end. You want her to have a nervous breakdown and leave the show?”

Ulf looked stricken. “Shit. Didn't think of that.” He patted Eric's shoulder. “You should totally wait until she's over you before you go back to studding.
W and F
without Monica would be unwatchable, dude.”

“Totally unwatchable,” Thad chimed in seriously.

“There you go,” said Eric. “I'm doing you all a service.”

“Maybe you should get back with her,” Thad offered tentatively.

“Which is it?” Eric snapped. “Return to horn doggery or make up with her?”

Thad looked down. “If you keep playing like shit, maybe get back with her. Even if it means you keep being boring.”

Eric looked around the locker room. “You pussies feel the same way?”

No one would look at him.

“Great,” Eric said, frowning.

“Let's stop talking about relationships and drown our sorrows at the Chapter House tonight, boys!” Ulf called out to the rest of the team. A raucous cheer went up. Eric caught his brother's eye. “Fuzzy's?” he mouthed. Jason nodded his head yes.

“Guys, Jace and I found a new place we have to check out. You up for it?”

Another cheer went up. Eric was glad. At this point, he was glad for anything that would take his mind off his shitty playing and off Monica.

 

“I'm so sorry.” Monty held out a bony, sympathetic hand to Monica from his perch on his sagging couch.

It took Monica a minute to figure out what he was referring to. Then she remembered: the play that had passed her over because she worked in daytime. No way was she going to tell him the reason for the rejection. She squeezed his hand, sighing.

“You know how it goes.”

“But didn't it feel wonderful auditioning again?” Monty asked before lapsing into a coughing fit, covering his mouth with a monogrammed handkerchief.

“I suppose,” Monica murmured. She glanced around his living room, the dust seeming to have taken up permanent residence. “Did Rosa quit?”

“She was released,” Monty corrected her haughtily.

“Jesus Christ, Monty! Do you know how long it took me to find her? Whatever you did, you're going to call her up and apologize and beg her to come back.”

Monty pointed his nose up in the air. “I will not.”

“You will. What did she do that was so awful?”