I call Marilyn. “Shit, Mallory. Are you on the set right now?”
“Did you know I was being written off the show?” I glance over my shoulder to check that no one’s listening.
Her heavy sigh comes through. “Yes. Apparently, the “bad publicity” from your miscarriage was in conflict with the “family values” of the show.”
“Bad publicity?” I take a second to let that sink in. “You mean the made-up bullshit?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Isn’t that some sort of discrimination? What about the “bad publicity” of firing someone who just lost a baby? Talk about conflicting with family values.”
“It’s unconscionable, Mallory. I agree. But in the long run, you’re better off.”
I blow out a breath.
“This show was doing nothing for you. Ocean Ave. will be much more successful. And you won’t have to be half-naked all day long.”
“Or eaten by sharks.”
Chapter Sixty
Chaser
We missed our ten-day mark for a visit. But we both agreed since I’d be home for almost a whole week to attend the premiere of Elimination Date, and handle some other business, it would be okay.
I still wish I’d been here to comfort Mallory after her last day of filming Shallow End. As much as she wanted off the show, I don’t think she’s taking the whole “eaten by a shark” thing well. Even though she insists she’s fine.
She’s been banging around in the kitchen all morning and I decided it was best to leave her be.
The scent of chocolate chip cookies finally pulls me away from guitar practice.
“Hey, shark bait.” I kiss Mallory’s cheek. “What’cha baking?”
“It’s not funny,” she grumbles.
Nope. Still too soon for jokes. “Do they ever find your character’s body?”
“No, thank God.”
“That means they left it open for you to make a big surprise comeback.” I hold my arms out in front of me, “Thriller”-style, and shuffle forward. “Zombie lifeguard. Eat brains.”
She skewers me with a stare while I do my best to maintain my zombie pose.
“I wouldn’t go back if it was the last acting job in Hollywood,” she huffs.
“Never say never.” I drop my arms and grin at her.
“Out of my kitchen.” She jabs her spatula in the direction of the living room.
I grab one of the cookies she just took out of the oven. Oozing chocolate sears my skin and I fling it down on the tray. “Fuck!”
“Duh, they just came out of the oven,” she teases.
At least she’s laughing a little now. Even if it took a zombie shuffle and burning my fingers to coax it out of her.
“Pout all you want today, little dove. But when we hit that red carpet tomorrow night, you’re my takes-shit-from-no-one girl. Chin up. Own that shark-death like it’s the highlight of your acting career. Feel me?”
Her bottom lip juts out and she comes closer, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face against my chest. “Thank you.”
I push her hair off her cheek. “You’re Mallory fucking Dove. Starring in the new Scott Southgate show.”
“Scout.”
“Don’t interrupt.”
She giggles and rubs her cheek against my shirt. “We’re there to celebrate the new movie and Kickstart’s song in the movie. Not my fledging television career.”
“Fuck that. You’re there to network too.”
“I’m going to support my man.” She runs her hands over my ass and squeezes.
“Good, support me by doing some networking.”
“Ugh. Marilyn already gave me a list of people she wants me to try to meet.”
I grin down at her. “Excellent.”
“I don’t like using my fiancé—”
“You’re not using me. We help each other out.”
“How exactly do I help you?”
I lean down and kiss her. “By being you.”
The next night, I’m pacing the living room waiting for Mallory to emerge from the bedroom. Cindy came over to help her get ready and we’re cutting it close to when the limo’s supposed to arrive.
“What do you think?”
Finally.
I turn around.
And stone-cold stop breathing for a second. “You look incredible.”
Whatever that shiny, satin, skintight pale-pink material is, Mallory needs a lot more dresses made out of it.
“The skirt’s a little tight.” She pinches at the material glued to her hips. “I’ll have to mince my way down the red carpet.”
I hold out my arm as I walk over to her. “I’m always ready to assist with any wardrobe glitch you might have, Ms. Dove.”
“Thank you.”
I lean down and kiss her. “You take my breath away, woman.”
“Well, don’t think less of me, but,” she lifts her dress a few inches, revealing shiny silver Reebok high-top sneakers, “They asked if I’d wear them to an event after I did that ad campaign and I couldn’t say yes