Catch a Rising Star (13 page)

“Well, we’d better go,” I say before he can even open his mouth.

“We’re just leaving too,” he says in a sexy, husky voice that I swear I’d think was put on if he was an actor instead of a
computer geek.

“Why don’t we all walk out together?” Rachel suggests, her smile wide, but her eyes narrow. Oh, is the size two best bod winner
feeling a little threatened?

“Great idea.” I give her a semi-sweet smile. “I always feel a little odd waiting for a cab after dark.”

“Want a lift home?” David asks.

“Oh no. That’s not necessary.” Dancy jabs me in the ribs with her elbow. But I’m not backing down. I have no intention of
letting him think I was hinting. Or more to the point, letting Rachel suspect it.

“Well, we’ll at least wait until you can get a cab.”

See, he’s very thoughtful. Perfect boyfriend material. Unlike Brian, who is just annoying—especially since I let him come
in and help me with the wardrobe. (Which is big and not exactly right for the apartment.)

We walk outside and a camera flashes.

Rachel huffs. “Goodness, I can’t go anywhere these days without photographers hounding me.”

“You could always wear a wig and dark glasses,” Laini drawls, and Dancy snickers, leaving me to keep my composure.

“Give us a smile, Tabby!” the photographers call out. I could kiss every single lens-stuffed face for making this about me
instead of Rachel.

I wave and smile, giving my sexy, one hip forward, skinny pose.

“Thanks, Tabby!”

“Anytime.”

“Miss Savage, can you give us a smile?”

“Why, sure, fellas.” The words are like smooth butter gliding from her lips. She’s going to make the most of this moment.

My heart is just sinking when I feel a shove from behind, knocking me into Rachel.

“Oops,” Dancy says. “Sorry. I stumbled.” Oh! She so did not!

The photographers chuckle, and I can only imagine the kind of shot they got.

“All right, guys,” I call out. “Play nice. You know what that’s going to look like. I got shoved into Rachel.”

“Sorry,” James Iams (like the dog food) says, putting away his camera. “That photo is going to sell for a lot.”

Jerk. I can’t believe I gave that guy my sexy pose.

Rachel gives a half laugh and waves. “It’s all right, boys. Just make sure it’s clear I was the one assaulted by Tabitha and
not the other way around.”

“Hey!” I speak up in a knee-jerk reaction. “You know I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“It’s true,” Dancy says. “I bumped her.”

“And I bumped Rachel after my friend bumped me.”

Rachel gives an exaggerated wave. “We believe them, don’t we, boys?” Her giggle puts the last nail in my proverbial coffin.
I can just see tomorrow’s soap mag headline… it’ll be Lindsay Lohan and Hillary Duff all over again.

God, will you cover your ears just for a second?

I hate her, hate her, hate her!

Okay, God. You can uncover them now.

God bless Rachel Savage.

W
ith Dad on a diet, Mom has suddenly become Nurse Martha and is making sure he sticks to things. Therefore, Christmas dinner
was a meager affair with turkey breast, no ham… potatoes mashed with chicken broth (who came
up
with that idea?) and sugar-free pie—which wasn’t too bad, but definitely not what I was expecting. All in all, a disappointing
day as far as food goes, but Shelly is feeling better and is starting to glow a little. Mike brought his weird girlfriend
again. Funny thing is, I think she’s starting to grow on Mom a little. At least she helped with dishes. And those are always
points in anyone’s favor. If one needs the points. And Joy does.

I make it home by ten Christmas night. I don’t really expect Laini or Dancy to be there—I figure they’ll stay the night in
their childhood bedrooms. Which is where I would have stayed if my stomach hadn’t been growling so loudly. But to my surprise
and delight, they’ve both beaten me back to the apartment.

They’re debriefing in the kitchen around leftovers they brought from their respective mothers. I find it difficult to hide
my enthusiasm. “Glory be, turkey and ham!” I two-finger grab a slice of baked ham. I don’t care which of my friends brought
it home. All I know is that I’m starving and this is heaven.

“Hey,” Dancy says, “where’s your leftovers?” Traditionally we eat for a week on the food we bring home from holidays. And
my mom sends the most and the best. Since we are going to be a few containers short this year, it looks like we’ll be eating
for only a day or two. Possibly less. Oh man, that’s good ham. Yes, I’ll definitely be eating for a while here.

“Sorry,” I say with my mouth full, but too hungry to care about my appalling lack of table manners. “Dad’s on a diet. Mom
didn’t make much, and what she did make tasted diet—trust me, you wouldn’t have wanted it.”

“Oh my goodness. You poor thing.” Laini springs into action and starts piling up my plate. Keep it coming, girlfriend. A fat
homemade yeast dinner roll finds its way to my plate. Real mashed potatoes and giblet gravy. Rice dressing, regular dressing,
green beans (okay, I’ll eat a few, but who wants to waste precious stomach room on vegetables when there’s four different
kinds of pie for dessert?). Yams, which I actually don’t like all that well, but always eat a little since it’s tradition.
And to top it all off, a wonderful seven-layer salad with real bacon bits and sugar.

I eat and eat as the girls talk around me. Laini chickened out about coming clean with her mom about learning interior design
because three of her aunts were there asking financial questions and gushing over her wonderful accounting abilities. Grandma
obviously has a thing for
Legacy of Life
because she kept grilling Laini about me. Her mom was weepy all day as she has been for the last three Christmases since
Laini’s dad passed on. I think it’s an attention getter, personally, but I wouldn’t say that to my friend. Anyway, the aunts
are why Laini didn’t stick around. Two of them are sharing her old room, and she would have had to either sleep on the floor
in the living room or with her mom, and neither seemed like a good choice.

Laini sighs and grabs a fork and dives into a slice of pecan pie.

“He was a jerk when we were kids,” Dancy is saying of the guy her mom is perpetually trying to fix her up with. “And he’s
an even bigger jerk now. When is my mother going to get it through her head that I am not Bridget Jones, and that Floyd Bartell
is definitely no Colin Firth? There is no possibility of a love connection. The man is an absolute troll every day of the
week.”

“Even on Christmas?” I quip. “Seems like he could take a day off once a year.”

Laini giggles.

Dancy isn’t amused. “No. On Christmas he turns into an evil elf—the kind that smashes all the doll heads after he puts them
on the doll bodies. Do you know I once caught him looking in my window trying to catch a peek?”

In my mind’s eye, I picture a sixteen-year-old pervert. Suddenly I see her point. “Ew. How old were you?”

“We were both eleven. Isn’t that revolting?”

I snicker. Laini snickers. And then the two of us are laughing so hard, tears are streaming down our cheeks.

“Oh sure. Laugh. But you wouldn’t think it was funny if you were the victim of some peeping Tom.”

“Oh, oh my gosh. Stop,” I say, begging for mercy. “You’re killing me here. I ate too much.”

“Serves you right,” Dancy grouches. “Glutton.”

“Okay, we’re sorry we laughed, Dan. I’m sorry you had such a rotten day.”

Dancy scowls. “You know the Peeker was bad enough, but guess who else was there?”

“Um. Who?” I decide no more making fun. Not when there is more turkey on my plate.

“Jack Quinn. Of all people.”

“Who’s that?” I say with my mouth full.

Dancy frowns. “Would you swallow?”

“Sorry.” Oops, still full.

“Swallow!”

I do and take a gulp of Diet Pepsi. This is great.

“Jack Quinn is my new boss. Remember?”

“What’s he doing?” Laini asks. “Stalking you?”

“No. Apparently, he’s a friend of Kale’s.”

Laini frowns. “I thought you said he was from London.”

Dancy nods glumly. “He went to NYU. He and Kale were college buddies or something stupid like that. So now my boss and my
brother are golfing pals.”

“This might be a good thing, Dan,” I say. “What guy is going to be mean to his best friend’s sister? It’s just not done.”

“Trust me, Jack Quinn couldn’t care less about friendship when it comes to making my life miserable.”

I’m suddenly over the food and focused on my friend—well, maybe one last bite. “What did he say to you?”

“It wasn’t so much what he said as his attitude.” She drops her tone and mimics: “I’m God’s gift to women, but you can’t unwrap
the package because you’re not good enough.”

“Dancy! Did you make a pass at the guy?”

“He wishes!” She sends me a look of total outrage. “I’m going to take a bath. Mom got me the new Jodi Picoult book for Christmas.”

Dancy cracks me up. She gets electronics and diamonds and five-hundred-dollar Jimmy Choos for Christmas, and what does she
get excited about? A new book. The girl works for a publisher and gets all the reading material she can handle. It’s just
not normal. She stuffs her new book under her arm as she grabs another Diet Pepsi and heads toward the bathroom.

An hour later, I’ve eaten all I can hold, said good night to Laini, and am lying in bed, seriously considering a run to the
twenty-four-hour pharmacy on the corner for a bottle of Tums. My stomach is absolutely telling me about my gluttonous rampage
after a month of forcing tofu and salad with no dressing down the pipes on a regular basis. I run my hand across my tummy
and discover a belly bump. I’m slightly mortified at my lack of self-control. I mean, Shelly having a belly bump is one thing,
the girl is four months pregnant. Me? I’m a compulsive overeater. In a few years I’ll be signing up for Weight Watchers if
I don’t take care of myself.

Sometimes overeating makes you sleepy. Sometimes it just makes you so miserable you can’t sleep, and the last option is my
problem. It’s been two hours since I put away the food and cleaned up the kitchen, and I’m wide awake.

When the buzzer buzzes, it nearly sends me through the roof.

Laini mutters something unintelligible and tosses a pillow over her head. I hop out of bed and head to the living room.

“Who is it?” I hiss.

“Brian.”

“Brian? What are you doing? It’s almost two in the morning.”

“You didn’t call.”

“What?” Oh, my gosh. Was I supposed to? I honestly can’t remember. “I’m sorry, Brian. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Well, I have this gift for you. Can I come in just for a few minutes?”

“Don’t you dare let him in this apartment, Tabby,” Dancy growls at me from the doorway to her bedroom. “Go away, Brian!” she
calls.

“Uh, Brian. That was Dancy. I’m sorry. I can’t let you in this late. It’s against the apartment rules.”

“Oh. Well, how about coming down for a few minutes?”

“Don’t do it,” Dancy warns. “You know what it’s going to look like to him if you go running down the steps in the middle of
the night.”

“He has a present for me.”

She sighs. “Fine. Do whatever you want. But don’t make any more noise.”

I press the button. “Hey, Bri. I’m sorry I forgot to call you. Honestly. But this will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“But…”

“Good night, Brian!”

I wait. No more buzzing. Thank goodness he got the message.

The phone rings, and I make a leap for the crazy thing before anyone hears it. I knock my toe against the coffee table leg
in the darkened living room. Wincing in pain, I snatch up the receiver midway through the second ring. “Brian! Look. You can’t
call or come over here this late. It’s just… impolite.”

“Tabitha?”

A voice that definitely isn’t Brian’s.

“Ma? What’s wrong?” Immediately my mind goes to my sister. Miscarriage?

“Honey, it’s your dad. He’s in the hospital ER. They think he might have had a heart attack.”

S
o they wouldn’t let you in to see your dad?” Laini’s voice over the phone is filled with sympathy.

Emergency triple bypass. And it could have been worse. Dad was carrying our old baby crib in from the garage and had a heart
attack. I’ve been at the hospital for the past eight hours and haven’t so much as caught a glimpse of him.

“Only Mom for now. They’ll let us in once they’re sure his vitals are stable and he’s fully awake. I just wanted to let you
guys know I won’t be home tonight. I’m going to stay with my mom to make sure she gets some rest.”

“Okay.” She pauses a minute. “Dancy says to tell you we need your okay on the final guest list for New Year’s Eve. Do you
feel like dealing with it?”

“New Year’s Eve?”

“The party.”

“Oh yeah. Don’t worry about it. Whoever you guys want is fine with me.”

“I thought we’d invite your brother and sister.”

I hesitate. Typically I prefer to keep my family away from my friends unless I need my friends as a buffer—like that dinner
fiasco a few months ago. It’s just easier that way. But I think about Shelly and her total lack of a social life these days.
I mean, when you devote all your attention for two years to a guy and blow off your friends, guess what? You end up alone.
But she can’t help that she’s one of those all-or-nothing types.

Mike has plans with “bite me” girl, I already know that. “I’ll ask Shelly if she wants to come,” I say.

“Call tomorrow and let us know how your dad is, okay?”

“Will do.”

I hang up and walk back to ICU. Shelly is curled up on one of the love seats. I stare a moment at my beautiful little sister.
Her long lashes brush her cheeks, her tousled hair giving her a childish appearance that takes me back twenty years to when
she followed me around mercilessly. All I wanted to do was get away from this girl. But in this moment, watching her in such
a vulnerable state, all I want to do is draw her close and make everything okay.