Girl of My Dreams (20 page)

A black, chauffeur-driven limousine was parked outside her apartment. Feeling like Cinderella, Jillian stepped inside. Troy scooted in beside her and immediately draped his arm around her shoulders.

“Before we go any further, I have a confession to make,” he said.

That was her line. Maybe he’d save her the trouble and say he didn’t want to marry her.

“Who you saw on
Girl of My Dreams
wasn’t me. I’m nothing like that guy.”

Where was this leading? “What do you mean?” she asked.

“It was all an act. The producer said to ham it up, so I did. I know I went too far at times, but I really got into it, sort of like an out-of-body experience. I was somebody else on camera, being outrageous, playing for reactions. It kind of carried over off the set as well. The truth is I’m an abysmal failure with women. I never can say the right thing. I’ve concentrated so much on making money that I lack big time in the personal etiquette department.”

This was not what she’d expected. Troy grew more human and vulnerable by the minute. It made her feel guilty about her upcoming confession. What should she say?

“Don’t put yourself down. From what I hear, you’ve accomplished a lot. Being a self-made man must make you proud,” Jillian said.

“Yes and no. Whenever I meet a goal, I think up a new and harder one. Ambition is a curse.”

“Also a blessing. Your parents must be proud of you.”

Troy gave a short laugh. “Who knows? I don’t see much of them, never have. They’ve been divorced as long as I can remember. I was nothing but an inconvenience. When I was young, all they did was fight over who was stuck with me and when.”

His voice sounded haunted.
Poor Troy. With such uncaring parents,
no wonder he had a hard time relating.

Jillian smiled sympathetically. “Deep down they must love you. What’s not to like?”

Moments ago there had been scads on her list. He didn’t need to know that, the poor dear.

“What I like about you, Veronica, is you always say the right thing. Enough about me. What about you? What kind of family are you from?”

“I’m an only child also. I had the most wonderful parents, who passed away far too soon. Still, it’s a comfort to know they shared a marvelous love. That has to mean something,” Jillian said, her eyes filling with tears as they always did when she thought of her loss. She’d never stop missing Mom and Dad. They were too much a part of her.

Troy nodded. “I see what you mean. It’s a goal not everyone achieves, but I’d like a stab at it. With an honest, intelligent, beautiful woman like you, I can’t fail.”

This was awkward. Jillian’s face warmed. How could she stage a letdown after that? The situation required diplomacy. “Troy, I’m not as wonderful as you think.”

“There you go again, being modest. It’s another thing I like about you.”

Oh, dear, now what to say.

Just then the limo pulled up to Sonata’s, one of L.A.’s top Italian restaurants. Jillian breathed a sigh of relief.

Inside the restaurant, though the lighting was dim, she caught a glimpse of bronze sconces adorning gold leaf wallpaper. A tantalizing aroma of garlic, basil and tomato sauce made her stomach growl. She coughed to hide the telltale sound and followed the maitre d’ past a sea of crimson clothed tables with Waterford candle holders and twinkling candles. The scene reminded her of Christmas, which was only a few months away.

They stopped at a booth in the far corner. “
Signorina, senor
, your waiter, Giuseppe, will be with you shortly. May you enjoy your meal,” the man said.

Hopefully, the waiter would arrive soon. Jillian’s appetite raged, which was surprising under the circumstances.

Life was strange and getting stranger by the minute. Not long ago she’d been an unsuspecting working class girl struggling to pay her debts. Now a handsome, rich man who was becoming more endearing by the minute was serious about making her his wife. The offer was tempting. Could she grow to love him? Should she forget Blake? She didn’t stand a chance with him anyway.

A loud squeal interrupted her thoughts. “I told you I saw them. It’s Veronica and Troy,” a girl shouted.

Jillian looked up. To her horror, a swarm of chattering fans rushed from the front of the restaurant straight in her direction. Somewhere in the midst of the melee the maitre d’ shouted, “You can’t go back there.”

He may as well have been invisible, the attention he got. The fans continued on their merry quest, jostling each other in the process.

They braked in front of the booth and crowded close, ogling Jillian and Troy.

Finally a young African-American girl with tiny barrettes dotting her corn-row curls ventured forward. “Can I have your autograph?” she asked, holding out a napkin to Jillian.

“Hey, I was here first.” Another girl shoved the first fan aside.

Jillian looked around helplessly. There was no use trying to escape. Her exit was blocked by the mob. She may as well make the most of the situation, surreal as it was. She wasn’t anyone special. Still, these people thought she was, so she may as well play along.

The noise rose, making Jillian wonder if she and Troy were safe. Would the mob, by its sheer magnitude, trample them? What should they do?

Troy stood up and held his hands out, as if pushing everyone back. “Stay put and keep still, please, while we work something out.”

Jillian joined him, standing. He put his arm around her. Her mind registered the fact he was playing the gentleman and trying to protect her. That was nice. How sad his touch didn’t mean more than that.

She cleared her throat. “I’ll be glad to sign autographs if all of you would please get into an orderly line. This is a restaurant. The clientele would like to eat their meals without being disturbed. Also, can you make way for the maitre d’, so he can help with the arrangements?”

The mob parted. The maitre d’, bald head wet with perspiration, darted forward. “This has never happened before in our establishment. Forgive me, please, but I could not contain them.”

“No need to apologize,” Troy said.

“What should we do with them? These people are disrupting our business,” the man said.

Jillian glanced again at the widening mob. The other diners were blocked from view, but she guessed they had to be fuming in their seats. They were as trapped as she and Troy.

“I know,” she said. “Can you hand out numbers? Then those waiting for autographs can line up outside the restaurant and come in when their number is called. Maybe that way your guests won’t be disturbed as much.”

The maitre d’ nodded.

“Great idea,” Troy said. “Now everyone, did you hear that? Wait for the maitre d’ to get back. He’ll give each of you a number according to your place in line. You’ll all get a chance for an autograph.”

As the maitre d’ left to write the numbers, the crowd relaxed. The crisis appeared to be over. Jillian sighed and sat down. She wasn’t used to this sort of thing. Public life was definitely not for her. She’d be lucky if she got a chance to eat. Such was the price of fame, sought or unsought.

One by one, the autograph hounds approached the table. On the back of each numbered index card, Jillian and Troy signed their names.

The line seemed never-ending, constantly regenerating like a worm that had been cut, yet re-grew. Finally, after an hour-and-a-half, Jillian lay down the felt-tipped pen, rubbed her cramped fingers and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness, I think that’s all of them,” she said.

Troy gave her a hug. “You handled that very well.”

She smiled at him with approval. “Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself.”

At that moment a flash went off, blinding her. She’d thought the autograph seekers had left.

“Thanks, that’ll make great copy,” a man with a fancy camera said before darting away.

Oh, dear. Her picture would be in another tabloid. What caption would this one show? So far, most had been embarrassingly inaccurate.

Troy released his hold on her and signaled to the waiter.

“We’re kind of hungry. Is it too late to get something to eat?”

As soon as the basket of Italian bread arrived, Jillian had to restrain herself from grabbing a piece and stuffing it in her mouth. Instead, she buttered it demurely. When she bit into it, she almost purred with delight.

After salad, veal scaloppini and mashed potatoes, Jillian managed to down a bowl of spumoni.

She stifled a yawn. “Well, it took us three hours, but we finished our meal. The food was heavenly.”

“I agree. It was worth the wait,” Troy said, pushing back his plate.

Inside the limo, she collapsed onto the seat. “Signing all those autographs wore me out. I’m totally exhausted,” she said, with another yawn.

It was the truth. Her hand felt cramped and sore. She could barely keep her eyes open.

“You’re a great sport, Veronica. Next time we’ll go somewhere less conspicuous.”

Next time. Oh, dear. All day long she’d dreaded breaking the news to Troy. She couldn’t do it now, not when she couldn’t even think straight.

“It was a nice place. Too bad we were seen. No wonder movie stars wear disguises,” she said.

“You still don’t get it, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re famous. You’re a star.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m no better than anyone else.”

“
Au contraire
. Television makes people larger than life. You’ll never be the person you were before. Lady, you’ve arrived.”

They pulled up to her apartment building. To hide her embarrassment, Jillian gave a short laugh. “I’ve arrived at my door and am very tired. Let’s leave it at that.”

He rushed out of the limo and opened her side.

They made it up two flights and were rounding the third, when she tripped. Troy caught her and held her close.

“You don’t mind if we find a place with an elevator after we’re married, do you?”

The situation was awkward. He held onto to her waist as they climbed the remaining stairs. He let go when they arrived at the top, only to reach into his pocket and pull out a small jewelry box.

Before she could protest, he was already down on one knee.

“Veronica Baker, would you do me the great honor of being my wife?” he asked.

She stood there tongue-tied. It was time to tell him. She opened her mouth to speak, but someone else’s words cut in.

“I spent twenty grand for the engagement ring on the show. Wasn’t it good enough?” a voice asked.

Jillian’s heart leapt, before it quickly sank. Blake was here. He couldn’t have come at a worse time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE BLOOD RUSHED to Blake’s head. It was true. He didn’t need a signboard to spell it out. Jillian was in love with Troy. They were getting married. End of picture, except, damn it, he hurt.

Troy said something about making the engagement more personal by purchasing his own ring for Veronica instead of the one from the show. The guy was really marrying her.

“Isn’t it late to be here visiting?” Jillian asked, changing the subject.

Her voice was not friendly or welcoming. He could kick himself for coming over tonight. She and Troy were an item. He was the outsider, and it smarted. How could he escape without seeming a fool? First, how to explain why he was here?

“I’m having trouble finding a decent assistant. The poor dears can’t handle the pressure. In the meantime, I’ve got a new show to put together. I was wondering if I could run a few ideas by you,” Blake said. Poor excuse, but all he could think of with his mind already in a panic at what he’d witnessed.            

“I see.”

Troy frowned. “The security system here is rotten. You shouldn’t have gotten access so easily. Veronica, it’s a good thing you’re moving soon.”

“I’ve never had trouble before.”

Troy turned to Blake. “How did you get in, Caldwell?”

“I helped an elderly lady carry her groceries.”

“Mrs. Ridley. I better warn her to be more careful. It could have been anyone she let in,” Jillian said.

“No, it wasn’t like that. Genevieve recognized me from the show. As a matter of fact, we had a long conversation about you and the series.”

Jillian gave him a searching look, then sighed. “Well, anyway, I’d invite you in and help you, but tonight has been hectic. We were mobbed by fans at the restaurant. Before we could eat we had to sign zillions of autographs. Right now all I want is rest. I could give you a call tomorrow, if you’d like.”

Take your crumbs and to hell with my pride? Not on your life.

“Actually, while I was waiting, a few ideas popped into my head. I was about to leave when you came up. Thanks for the offer anyway, Jillian,” he said, purposely using the name she’d first given him and not the one Troy and her fans used.

Her emerald eyes darkened with either anger or regret. “Well, then, I wish you luck in your endeavor, Blake.”