The Proud and the Prejudiced (8 page)

She caught a form from the corner of her eye and
glanced over. Peter glowered at them from off set with a pronounced frown.

“He really does hate you,” Alice said. “Every time
I look up, he is glaring at you. If he keeps creasing his eyebrows like that,
he’s going to get wrinkles.”

“I’m surprised he can move them at all with all
that Botox.”

She faced Rich again when she giggled so Peter
wouldn’t know she was laughing at him. Suspect, perhaps. “Do you really think
he uses Botox?”

“This is Hollywood. I was about to go out for a
cigarette. Join me?”

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Occasionally. Do you?”

“No, but I-uh-was thinking of starting.”

“Starting? You’re kidding.”

“But with electronic cigarettes.”

They both began giggling then, and Rich glanced
over at Peter before taking her hand. “Come on. I’m tired of Lord Voldemort
staring me down.”

*****

“Alice,” Peter called out from his make-up chair.
She stopped and faced him but didn’t approach. She refused to be summoned to
join the bevy of females floating around him. As soon as he seemed to realize
that, he stood and walked to her with script in hand.

“Is there something you can do for me, Mr.
Walsingham?”

“Uh…yes. I wanted to discuss this scene I have
with my sister. Clarissa.”

She released an aggravated sigh.
Now what?

“Could we speak somewhere more private?” he asked.
“Your office perhaps?”

She shrugged and led the way, and he closed her
office door behind them. She faced him with her arms folded across her chest.

“So what’s the problem now? The plot? The dialog?”

“No, I’ve given up on that. I was just thinking
that this is momentous information Tristan is sharing with Clarissa. I don’t
think he would discuss it with her in a hospital cafeteria.”

“We’ve had too many scenes in her living room
already. She’s a brain surgeon; she has to spend some time in the hospital.”

“But even to discuss the script, I asked if we
could speak in private. She is a neurosurgeon. She should have her own office
at the hospital.”

He did have a point. “We do have a doctor’s office
around here somewhere. This is really going to piss off all the extras in that
scene.”

“Maybe we could start in the cafeteria and move to
her office. Here, let me show you.” He opened the script and handed it to her
and then, coming behind her to read over her shoulder, pointed out the section.
“We could go ahead and keep all this...”

He spoke low, his breath against her ear, and his
nearness disconcerted her. Her already-tiny office continued to shrink around
them.
Is he sniffing my hair?

Focus!
“And, uh, right here she could say
something like, ‘We should discuss this in private. Let’s go to my office.’” He
smelled good. Under the aromas of make-up and hairspray and soundstage, she
could detect a spiciness that reminded her of pumpkin pie and yet somehow
masculine. Warm and familiar, like holidays at home.

“Yes, exactly,” he said softly against her neck.

She flinched then turned around to face him and
took a step back. She waited for her heart to start beating again before
speaking. “I...um...I like it. I’ll talk to Mr. Peacock.” When he didn’t make a
move to go and continued to stare, she asked, “Is there something else?”

“Yes. I wanted to apologize for my behavior the
other day. I shouldn’t have stormed out like that. I’m lucky my fit didn’t go
viral on the Internet.”

“OK.”

“There’s no denying Rich and I have a history, and
his appearance took me by surprise.”

“He was quite shocked to see you as well.”

“Do you know him? Is that how he got the part?”

“I have nothing to do with casting. You should
know that. I hadn’t met him before that day.”

“Well, you’ve certainly become friendly with him
quickly,” he said, his tone turning sharp.

Her mouth dropped open, and she shoved the script
into his chest before walking around to the other side of her desk. “I am
friends with many members of the cast. And you’re one to talk! You’ve become
friends
with your harem pretty fast.”

Peter took a deep breath in preparation for his
retort, but then he just exhaled and shook his head. “I don’t want to argue
with you, Alice. Just keep in mind that people are not always what they seem.”

“Thanks, but I think I figured that out some time
ago.”

CHAPTER 8

The cast and crew gathered together at the hospital
set stared at Mrs. Jellyby – slight smile, bright dress – as if doubting the
veracity of her speech.

“And thanks to the bump in ratings during sweeps,
ALL of the affiliates’ advertisers have renewed!” As the cast and crew cheered,
she raised her voice to add, “And we owe it all to Peter Walsingham!”

 
More like the network executives who forced
him here
. Alice glanced at Peter on the far side of the set to see how he
reacted to the din of excited appreciation now aimed at him, but he just stood
there with the beginnings of a smile at the corner of his lips staring in her
direction.

“I think this calls for a celebration,” Mr.
Peacock said over the noise.

“A party,” someone suggested and others agreed.

“It must be this weekend,” Mrs. Jellyby said. “Our
guest of honor must leave us next week, and we cannot celebrate without him.”

As the others bounced around ideas, Peter walked
to center stage next to Mrs. Jellyby. “I would like to offer my home for the
celebration,” he said, evoking unanimous shock as well as flustering Mrs.
Jellyby.

“But, no, you’re the guest of honor.”

“If I truly am responsible for this, then I should
take responsibility for the celebration as well.” He faced Alice when making
this illogical pronouncement, as if it were her decision.

The crew called out requests like children
planning their birthday party.

“A band!”

“No, there’s no time to book one.”

“I think a band can be arranged,” Peter said.

Why does he keep staring at me like that?
She decided to up the ante. “What about an eighties cover band.”
Let’s see
him pull that out of his ass.

He smiled at her. “Whatever you want.”

After a quick knock on her door, Rich came in
before she could respond.

“Where were you?” she asked. “You missed the big
announcement.”

“I heard – great news!” He stepped around the desk
and sat on the edge of it next to Alice.

“I suppose you also heard about the party. Are you
going to come even though it’s at Peter’s house?”

“They did say all the cast and crew were invited,
and that includes me. Why should I miss out? It’s his problem, not mine.” He
leaned over and brought his lips onto hers before she could protest against
kissing at work. “See you tonight?”

She nodded, and he kissed her again.
Oh, what
the hell
. Then he stood up and walked out, closing the door behind him.

That night after their date, Alice and Rich stood
once again under the lamp over her front door.

“I don’t suppose I make it across the threshold
tonight?”

“No, sorry. Maid’s day off – the place is a mess.”

“Hmm. So when do you think the maid will come
clean?”

“Not sure yet. She’s new, and we’re taking things
slow.”

He stepped closer, putting his hands on her waist,
and kissed her, pulling gently at her lower lip with his teeth and awakening
every nerve in her body.

“So,” she said, “you’re definitely coming to
Peter’s party, I mean, the cast party?”

“Of course. But I’ll have to meet you there. I
have to drive out to Malibu to help a friend move some stuff.”

“But you will be there.”

“You think I would miss an opportunity to see Lord
Voldemort’s castle?”

She closed her eyes as they kissed again, and at
his lips urging, she opened her mouth. She put her arms around his neck, and
his tongue touched hers.
Peter.

Her eyes flew open.
Peter? What the hell? Why
would I think of Peter while I am kissing Rich? I really like Rich. And I can’t
stand Peter. It’s probably because we were just talking about him. Yeah, that’s
it.

Her confused brain distracted her from her present
situation until a hand on her breast alerted her to the tongue in her mouth,
and she broke the kiss and stepped back to face a red-faced, panting Rich.

“Wow,” he said. “That was some kiss. You sure I
can’t come in?”

Uh-oh.
“Sorry, not tonight. Goodnight,” she
said as one word and escaped behind her door before he could react.

*****

Alice would not describe Peter’s house in the
Hollywood Hills as a castle – more of a palace. Palatial could be the only word
appropriate for the tastefully decorated mansion. She tried not to gawk up
toward the high ceiling and around at the expanse of marble tiles and all the
rich furnishings, which brought to mind the Bellagio. She had arrived late,
since she came alone and wanted to ensure at least most of the others would
already be there; and when no one came when she knocked and rang, she had let
herself in only to stand by herself on the other side of the door. She could
hear music in the distance but not clear enough to determine the direction.

“I had begun to think you wouldn’t come.”

Alice turned to Peter’s voice behind her. “I…uh.
Sorry.”
Why am I apologizing?

“I was afraid that…well, you
did
come. If
you’d like to leave your things in the cloakroom, I’ll take you out to the
others.”

“Ah, well, aren’t you the perfect host. Don’t you
have a butler or something?”

She dropped off her purse –
Really? A cloakroom?
– and he walked with her through a maze until they arrived at a large room
filled with guests spilling out to the pool area. Peter grabbed two crystal
flutes from the tray of a passing waiter and handed her one of them.

He touched his glass to hers with a ting.
“Congratulations.”

She sipped then asked, “Why are you congratulating
me? You have achieved what you came here to do, or rather what the network sent
you to do.”

“No, the novelty of having me on the show might
have brought in a few viewers, but it’s your storylines that kept them hooked.
I still think they are ludicrous,” he said with a smile, “but clearly you know
your audience. So here’s to a team effort.”

He touched his glass to hers again, and as she
drank, the music caught her attention. At first she had thought a DJ must be
out there, but now she could see the stage on the far side of the extensive
patio. He had done it – an eighties cover band.

“The band,” she managed to sputter out. “How?”

“You said that was what you wanted.”

She lifted her eyes to his, and something about
them disturbed her. She suddenly felt nervous, as if she had lost something, or
there was something she had forgotten to do.

Her breathing grew labored as she took another
sip, his gaze falling to her mouth then back to her eyes.

Butterscotch schnapps
.

Then she remembered.
Rich
. As late as she
had arrived, he must already be there. She glanced around the room but didn’t
see him.

“Are you looking for someone?” Peter’s tone had
taken an edge since his toasts.

“Yes, is…is Eileen here yet?”

Peter drank the rest of his champagne in one
swallow. “Yes, she’s by the pool. I’ll show you.”

“No, thanks. I’ll find her.”

She rushed in among the other guests, often being
forced to stop to greet her co-workers and their dates or mates. The pool had
lilies with candles floating on its surface. A few people were dancing on the
patio out by the band, with tiny white lights strung over the makeshift dance
floor. He had done it all at a moment’s notice; and with the beauty and
perfection he had arranged here on Earth, she would not have been surprised if
he had ordered the stars twinkling in the black sky as well.
Must be nice to
have that kind of money.

One thing she did not find, however, was any sign
of Rich. Eileen waved to her from beside the bar.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d get here.”

“I just walked in the door. Have you seen Rich?”
Alice asked, still searching through the guests. “Could he be dancing?”

“No, I don’t think he’s here yet. I was just out
by the band and didn’t see him.”

“I thought he’d be here by now.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to come since he and Peter
are not exactly friends.”

“No, he said that was Peter’s problem, not his.”

“You’re really into Rich. Aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah! He’s a hottie! Don’t tell you’re
interested in him.”

“I could never go out with a guy with the last
name ‘Dover.’”

“Why not?”

“What if we ended up getting married? Then I’d be
Eileen Dover.”

They both erupted with laughter, which Alice
stoked by adding, “Too bad he doesn’t have a brother named Ben!” Alice almost
choked on the remainder of her champagne and took a full glass from the bar.

“Alice, listen. I need to talk to you about
something. Well, this probably isn’t the right time or place.”

Alice turned her full attention back to Eileen.
“That doesn’t sound good. Let me finish this glass, and then I’ll be ready to
hear it.” She drank most of it down and then studied her friend.

“I got a part – in a film.”

“Eileen, that’s great!” She smiled broadly and
pulled Eileen into a hug. “That calls for more champagne! So tell me about it.”

“It’s a small part, but I do have lines and lots
of screen time.”

“What’s the role?”

Eileen glanced down at her glass then back to
Alice. “It’s as an old hag.”

Alice burst out laughing. “I know you said you
aren’t as beautiful as Giselle, but you’re certainly no old hag!”

“They’ll use make-up, silly, and this could be a
great opportunity for me.”

“I know. It really is wonderful. So when do you
need to be on set?”

“I have to be in Louisiana by the end of the
month.”

“Louisiana in August. Ech. At least that’s during
the Olympics so I don’t have to send you off to a medical convention or
something.”

“Well, that’s the thing I need to talk to you
about. I don’t want to come back.”

Alice thought she must not have heard correctly.
“What?”

“I’m leaving
All My Tomorrows,
Alice. I
need you to write me out.”

“Shit – how long do you have to be on location?”

“It’s not just this film. I really want to give
this a shot. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought ever since we thought the
soap was going to be cancelled. Don’t hate me for saying it, but I don’t want
to spend my entire career on a
daytime drama
.”

“Of course I don’t hate you. I feel the same way.
Don’t you dare repeat this, but I do want something more. As long as you don’t
kick me out of your life, I want you to have everything you want.”

“I would never let you out of my life. In fact, I
wanted to see if you would come with me on location.”

“Louisiana in August? No way. Not happening. You
might have to suffer for your art, but I don’t.”

“I’ve been so worried about telling you. I’m sorry
you have to change the storyline.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I will not kill you.” The
bartender stopped mid-pour at Alice’s declaration. “I refuse to kill you off,
just in case you want to come back. Peter’s leaving, so you can go visit him to
spend time with your devastated brother, and while you are there, you meet the
man of your dreams.”
Speaking of which…
“Now I have to find out when
Rich is getting here.”

Alice set off on the journey to the front of the
house, stopping only to speak to Jack-and-Giselle – they were joined at the
hip, after all – and with a few missteps along the way. She finally retrieved
her purse from the “cloakroom” and pulled out her cell. A text.

Still in malb not gonna make it sorry prob better not to
spoil the party by pissing off vold

She would have thrown the phone across the marble
tile except she really liked the case, but she did shove it back into her purse
with great force.
That’s it. I’m going to go
. Except she had not eaten
much all day, and the three glasses of champagne had gone straight to her head.

“Fuck it.” She tossed her purse down and marched
toward the party. She barely knew this guy; she was not going to let his
non-appearance prevent her from having fun with her friends – really the only
family she had.

Alice had not counted how many glasses of
champagne she’d had, but it must have been quite a few to get her out on the
patio dance floor. She had to admit, the band could imitate just about any song
from the eighties like a New Wave mynah bird. In fact, although she didn’t know
whether to credit her friends or the upbeat music or the champagne – perhaps
the combination – she could not remember the last time she’d had so much fun.
She and Eileen and Jack and Giselle were hopping around frenetically under the
stars and twinkling lights to some song she didn’t even recognize but that
sounded like eighties pop.

After ten or more fast songs in a row, the music
stopped, and a saxophonist came into the stage lighting. As the opening riff
for “Careless Whisper” began, Jack-and-Giselle again became a unit, and a
cameraman took a laughing Eileen into waltz position.

Alice turned to leave the dance floor and stopped
just short of walking into Peter. Before she understood what was happening, he
had taken her hands and tugged her toward him.

“Where’s Winnie?” she asked.

He furrowed his brow and peered at her through
squinted eyes. “Why would she be here?”

He stepped forward as she resisted. “I’ve been
dancing – I’m all sweaty.” She was, too. Her blouse clung to her chest, and her
scalp was drenched.

“So am I.” He traced her face with his eyes and
pulled her into his arms.

Her arms were trapped against his damp chest, so
she had no choice but to circle them around his neck; but that only brought
their bodies closer. They barely moved, their feet somehow turning them in a
sluggish rotation, reminding her of slow dancing in high school. A tingly
numbness enveloped her. She surrendered to it and laid her head against his
shoulder, and he tightened his hold.