Power Play (3 page)

“I have a scene with her,” said Eric, feeling quite pleased with this small coup. “I even get to play myself.”

Everyone in the league watched
The Wild and the Free
. Soaps were a favorite way for them to pass the time in hotel rooms when they were on the road, and they all watched when they were home, too, since the teams' workout and weight rooms had TVs. Eric couldn't count the times he'd been sweating his ass off on a cross trainer with his eyes glued to Monica Geary.

Jason had a faraway look in his eyes. “Remember that time Roxie's fiancé plunged into a volcano, but it turned out he didn't really die, and he secretly came back to Garrett City, gaslighting Roxie for a while?”

“That was great,” Eric agreed. Talking about the show was getting him pumped.

“Or the time Roxie was reunited with the baby she'd given birth to in high school but didn't know she had, because she'd been kicked in the head at the prom by a runaway horse and got amnesia?”

“Oh, man. The way Monica turned on the tears during that scene? You could hear guys sniffling all over the weight room that day. She's a great actress.”

“When will you be torturing the cast and crew with your presence?”

“I shoot next Thursday afternoon, I think. I should be getting my script by FedEx today.” It sounded so cool saying that.

“Do you know when it airs?”

“No. But I'm sure they'll tell me.”

“Bastard.” Jason paused thoughtfully. “You know what you should do? Get an autographed pic of her for the locker room. Or have someone take a picture of the two of you together. That'll help redeem your ass a little.”

“I'm not doing that,” Eric scoffed. “It's so fannish.”

“You
are
a fan.”

“Not on Thursday I'm not. On Thursday I'm a guest star.”

“Oh, please.”

“Seriously: I don't want to come across as a geek.”

“You could never be a geek. But an asshole? That's another story.”

Eric yawned. “Yada yada yada.”

“Delilah wants to know if you want to come for dinner tomorrow night.”

“I'd love to,” said Eric, “but I can't. I have to start studying my part.”

“Your cameo is a
week
away, Eric, and you have less than
five
lines.”

“No,” Eric said emphatically. “I need to be make sure that when next Thursday rolls around, everything goes perfectly. I want to impress Monica.”

Jason frowned. “Fine, but if you change your mind, just come over. We're hanging out and watching some special on aardvarks on
Animal Planet
.”

“Now that's love.”

“You're damn right. You might want to try it sometime.”

TWO

 

“Cut!”

Monica heaved a sigh of frustration as Jimmy the director flew out of the control booth for the third time, making a beeline for Eric Mitchell. The first time Eric screwed up his lines, Jimmy was patient. The guy was a hockey player, after all, not an actor. The second time he screwed up, Royce, who usually ate guest stars alive, assured him that he just needed to relax and things would be fine. But the third time was too much. As always, they were on a very tight shooting schedule and had no time for multiple takes.

“For the third goddamn time, the line is, ‘It's an honor to meet you,
Grayson
,' ” said Jimmy through clenched teeth. “Grayson! Grayson! Grayson! It's not that hard!” He stormed back to the booth.

“Yowza,” said Eric sardonically, looking at Monica. “Someone should give that guy a chill pill, huh?”

“This isn't a joke,” said Monica, wheeling Royce back out of the locker room as he retied his blindfold. Eric took his place, too. Sauntered to it, actually, then had the balls to wink at Monica. This guy was unbelievable.

“Action!”

This time, the jock managed not to call Grayson Roxie, but when it came to his line, “I know you'll score a goal of your own, Grayson, and walk again,” he said “talk again” rather than “walk again.”

“Do
you
know how to talk?!” Jimmy shouted through the mike from the control booth. Monica winced as Jimmy turned to the executive producer, Michael Herrera. “Whose bright idea was this to have this guy do a cameo?! Yours?! We'd have better luck with a trained seal!” With that he grabbed the giant bottle of generic aspirin he always kept on the ledge of the control panel, shaking out what looked like a small mountain into his palm before cramming them into his mouth as if they were M&M's.

Herrera,
W and F
's long-suffering producer, recently back from a second stint in rehab for addiction to Valium, got on the mike and said, “All right, everybody, let's take five.”

“We don't have five!” Jimmy screamed.

Michael ignored him, focusing all his attention on Eric. “Listen, you have
got
to nail it the next time, or we're gonna have to cut the scene; we just don't have time to fool around with this.” He paused, thinking. “I'll check with the writers to see if they can write up a few new lines for a different surprise for Grayson if we need to. Maybe Roxie can do a lap dance or something.”

“You do that, and the only dance I'll be doing is on my way out of this studio!” Monica shouted up to him. She couldn't even bear to glance at Royce, whom she knew had to be praying for Eric Mitchell to hang himself the next time he opened his mouth. God, she wished she had a cigarette. She would just have to do with moving off set and doing a few deep-breathing exercises instead.

 

“Hey.”

Monica cracked open an eye in the middle of a deep inhale to see Eric Mitchell standing in front of her. Out of polite-ness, she opened the other eye. “Yes?”

“I'm sorry I keep screwing up. I thought it would be easy.”

Monica frowned. “Everyone does.”

It amazed her, the way everyone thought they could act. She could tell him that the sign of a good actor
was
making it look effortless, but what would be the point?

Part of the problem was that for every good actor in daytime, there was one bad one. It was one of the reasons the genre got no respect. That, and the fact that to hold the interest of viewers and not repeat themselves five days a week, fifty weeks a year, year in and year out, the writers were sometimes forced to write fantastical story lines ripe for mockery. Evil twins. Characters returning from the dead. Amnesia, demonic possession, characters marrying each other multiple times—it was all there. But there was reality there, too: characters grappling with serious issues of life and love. That was what hooked the viewers. That was what allowed them to suspend disbelief and follow these characters wherever the show's writers took them.

The hockey player was looking at her like she was a piece of succulent filet mignon on his plate. She should have been used to that by now, but it never failed to irk her just a little.
I'm more than boobs, legs, and a face,
she wanted to tell him. Not that it would make any difference.

“You and I have something in common,” Eric murmured.

“What's that?” Monica asked, trying desperately to see past him to the clock on the studio wall. Three more minutes. She only had to endure three more minutes of small talk with the jock who thought he could act. Anything was doable for three minutes.

“We're both sexy,” he whispered through hooded eyes. “You were voted ‘One of the Sexiest Women in Daytime,' and I was voted one of
People
magazine's ‘Top Fifty Bachelors. ' ”

“I didn't know that,” Monica replied with affected boredom she hoped would repel him. She could see why he made their list, though. Great bod, sandy blond hair, sparkling blue eyes. She hated to admit it, but physically speaking, he was the male version of her.

“You really don't think it's fascinating we're both sex symbols?” Eric prodded.

“No.”

“Oh, c'mon. You and I both know it says, ‘These two people were fated to meet.' ”

“Actually, to me it says, ‘Delusional athlete.' ”

She knew she was taking a risk in being snarky to him. First rule of being in the public eye: be unfailingly polite, even if you are dealing with a crazed fan or an antagonistic journalist. But this guy was being such a horse's ass she couldn't hold back.

Undeterred, Eric leaned in to her. “Two famous people who are hot, the big city at night . . . how about you give me your number, and we set the world on fire?”

Monica recoiled. “You're kidding, right? Who do you think I am, some bimbo?”

Eric looked mystified. “Huh?”

“That has got to be the most atrocious pickup line I've heard in my life. Do you really think a woman would
fall
for that?”

Eric rocked confidently on his heels. “I thought it was pretty good, myself. What do you say?”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Just a minute and a half more.
Tick, tick, help.

Eric chuckled. “Look, Rox—I mean, Monica—I occasionally glance at
Soap World
magazine when one of the other players brings it into the locker room, so I know you're foot-loose and fancy-free these days. As am I, remarkably. You can't deny there's some kind of chemistry between us here.”

Monica cocked her head inquisitively. “Have you ever spent time in a mental hospital? Just curious.”

“Take a chance, babe. Go out with me.”

“No,”
Monica repeated firmly. “And don't call me
babe
.”

Eric winked at her, and it was even more annoying the second time than it was the first. “How about
gorgeous
?
Hot? Goddess? Stone-cold foxy lady supreme?
”

“Let's make a deal, okay? You don't talk to me again unless we're in character, and I don't publicly accuse you of harassing me.”

Eric shrugged. “Your loss, babe.”

“Aaarrrr!” Monica growled in frustration, storming back to the set, fingers twitching for a cigarette. It was a pity that someone so good looking was such a vapid, annoying
tick
. The minute their scene together was over, she ran to her dressing room and locked the door until she got word Eric Mitchell had left the building and crawled back to the rink he came from. Sometimes, acting was the easy part. It was getting men to see past her status and body that was hard.

 

“So, Mr. Soap Star, how did it go?”

Eric turned from his locker to see Ulf Torkelson standing behind him, arms crossed, a mocking expression on his face. Word had spread like wildfire that Eric was doing a cameo on
The Wild and the Free
, and just as he'd expected, some of his new teammates were regarding him with envy.

Eric slung a towel around his sweaty neck. “It went great. I had four lines. Could have done it in my sleep.” Fearful of his scene being cut, he
had
aced it on the last take. Thinking a
touch
of humility might get Monica to reconsider her refusal of a night on the town with him, he'd turned to her the second the director yelled, “Cut!” to thank her for her patience, but she shot off the set so fast she was a blur. He took it in stride, knowing that eventually she'd regret turning him down and seek him out.

Barry Fontaine, a teammate and a friend of his brother's, wasn't looking at him with any resentment at all as he asked in a worshipful voice, “Did you meet Monica Geary?”

“Yup. That's who my scene was with. We got along great. Truth be told, I think she was kind of into me.”

Ulf snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Seriously. We hit it off right away. Couldn't stop talking between takes.”

“She probably felt sorry for you,” Thad Meyers said with scorn.

“Why would that be?” Eric asked, grabbing his shampoo and soap.

“Because you're no Guy Le Temp and never will be,” Thad replied. Scattered nods of assent filled the locker room.

I'm better than Guy Le Temp, which is why I'm here, you asshole,
thought Eric. He'd just done great at practice, and that wasn't just his ego speaking. Tully had told him so, and so had Assistant Coach Dante, who had a tendency to be extra hard on players since he moved behind the bench. The only one silent and watchful was Ty Gallagher. Always scribbling notes on his fucking clipboard. Eric imagined him checking off some kind of score sheet as the Blades progressed from drill to drill. Ty seemed particularly fond of making them sprint up and down the ice, which Eric hated. Luckily he didn't lag in any way, and in fact skated more quickly than his brother, which gave him pleasure. Jace might be assistant captain, but Eric was still the better player. He couldn't wait to prove it on the ice.

“When's the episode airing?” David Hewson asked. Hewsie was now the team's top goalie after the departure of Denny O'Malley, who'd retired after taking one too many pucks to his melon. Hewsie seemed not to have any issue with Eric replacing Guy, perhaps because he had only been a Blade for a year himself. Or maybe he just wasn't a schmuck.