Love in Reality: A Contemporary Romance (The Blackjack Quartet) (31 page)

“Sure!” Lissa sounded excited. Made sense. She’d been the one who wanted to be on the show in the first place.

“Will I see Libby when I get in?” she asked.

Rand looked around the room, but he couldn’t see Marcy or Kesha. “I don’t know. I, uh, won’t be there. Whoever is in charge of showing you around will know.”

She laughed. “You mean, whoever’s handling me. Got it. Well, I’d better go pack.”

* * *

Marcy’s assistant, Kesha—who looked like a preteen but acted like an old woman, nervous and inclined to flinch if you glanced at her sideways—finally joined Libby in the limo. She told the driver which hotel, then spent the drive on her smartphone.

At the hotel, Kesha made sure Libby got checked in and up to the room without anyone recognizing her.

The hotel room was nicer than the first one Rand had taken her to, but not as nice as Santa Monica. One king-size bed, a sitting area, and a view of another wing of the hotel on one side and a freeway on the other. As prison cells went, not bad.

She didn’t say that to Kesha, who’d started to spout the “rules.”

“In the event of fire or an earthquake, you can leave, but the production company would really rather you didn’t leave the room. Don’t worry about the expense of room service. Just relax and get caught up on the news. Do you want any magazines? Books? Anything from the gift shop?”

Libby said no to all of it. The one thing she wanted—news of Rand—Kesha wasn’t going to provide.

Out loud, Kesha tried again to think of anything, anything at all, that Libby might want. It took some effort to persuade her to leave, but Libby finally managed it. As soon as the door closed, Libby lay on the bed. She knew she could watch TV but she’d not really missed it. Maybe later.

What she wanted, of course, was to talk to Rand. But she didn’t have her cell phone, didn’t know the production company’s main number, and didn’t have a computer. She could call directory assistance, but all the phone calls she made would show up on the bill. She couldn’t risk Marcy learning that she’d called Rand. And Libby couldn’t leave to find a pay phone, even assuming one existed in a hotel lobby these days. Plus, no money, remember?

Anyway, what would she say? He knew the truth now, he even knew why. She could explain it again, but she had no way of knowing if he cared. Their relationship—the connection between them—had unfolded in such an unlikely fashion, perhaps it was destined to evaporate like rain on a hot road. The game, her masquerade as Lissa, even their time together had been stolen. Libby didn’t know if there was anything real there. When she imagined asking Rand if he thought they had a chance, she felt cold and anxious. She was in no hurry to start down that path, not if it meant learning that he didn’t understand or couldn’t forgive her.

The room phone rang, making her jump. How long had it been since she was in the same room as a telephone, she wondered. A telephone she was allowed to use, that is.

It was Rand.

“Oh, thank God,” she said, sagging with relief after he said his name.

“Uh, right. Libby, your sister is coming down tonight. Do you want us to put her in the room adjoining yours?” he asked. He sounded very far away, and not because he was on a dodgy cell phone.

“You’re with Marcy,” she guessed. There was a horrible ache in her stomach. She wanted to cry.

“Right. So that’s okay, then, about the adjoining rooms?”

Libby struggled to think. “Yeah, yeah, the room’s okay. Look, can you stall and answer as though I’m asking you about tomorrow’s schedule, when someone will come to get me, stuff like that?”

“We don’t have details on tomorrow’s schedule yet, but as soon as we know, we’ll be in touch,” he said calmly.

Oh, crap, he was going to hang up.

“Wait. Roll your eyes like I’m demanding different bottled water or something. Can you come over later or—or call?” she asked, trying hard not to sound whiny. “I need to talk to you, to explain. I have to know you understand.”

“Yes, I understand. Pellegrino for your sister and Evian for you. Got that. Anything else?”

Don’t go, she wanted to yell. Talk to me. Tell me you still care. Tell me this hasn’t changed everything. Tell me I didn’t fall in love with you only to discover I’d screwed it up even before it started.

“No,” she said. “I guess not.”

“Okay.” There was a pause. “I need to get back to work, I’m afraid. You have Kesha’s number if you need anything.”

“Wait. There is one thing you didn’t say. When’s Lissa’s plane arriving?” Libby was annoyed now. He could make her disappear from a house full of cameras, but he couldn’t get away to call her? She clenched her teeth to hold back what she really wanted to say.

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t get in until 6:30 a.m.,” he explained. “We’ve scrapped the idea of having you both appear on the morning show, so we don’t have definite plans yet. A car service will bring her to the hotel. I’m afraid she’ll be on lockdown as well.”

“Okay, thanks.”

His voice lowered slightly. “Get some sleep—that’s my advice. Tomorrow’s going to be a crazy day.”

“I will.” She wanted to say more, maybe even something silly or sexy, but she was too confused and tired, and then the moment was lost. He said goodbye, and she was alone again.

* * *

Rand ended the call reluctantly. He glanced around, but even pushing midnight, the room was humming. Everyone was still busy on their phones or their laptops. He probably could have risked talking to Libby, reassuring her less obliquely, but the consequences if Marcy learned about them seemed too awful to risk it. He could tell Libby was upset, and he could guess how hard it must be for her in that hotel room with no one to talk to. At least he had his work to focus on.

Crazy, but this sudden upheaval energized him. As long as he didn’t think about how it affected him personally. As TV, though, it was fascinating. Finally, his job on a reality TV show had him dealing with the vicissitudes of real life.

Meeting Lissa, seeing her next to Libby, comparing the two—it was an exciting prospect. Rand had gone to school with a pair of identical twins, Scott and Steve. Rand thought they were the coolest guys, able to trick the teachers or swap girls without compunction just by pretending to be each other. Rand knew one girl who got pissed off about being the victim of that stunt, but then she’d been a drama queen anyway. What Rand remembered, though, was that the switch had required acting. Each boy had personality traits that their friends and teachers used to tell them apart. They had to act like each other to fool anyone.

That was the intriguing question Rand couldn’t shake. What was Libby like? When she’d talked about her “law student sister,” had she been describing herself or Lissa? Or was it more complicated than that? Maybe that was what Libby had been talking about when she’d said she wasn’t sure who she was anymore. Had she found more of her sister’s personality in herself than she expected? Or would Libby revert to being completely bland and serious when the real Lissa showed up? Rand wouldn’t know until he saw them together. He glanced at the clock. Just a few more hours. Maybe he’d even get home with time to sleep, not just shower and change.

“Rand!” Marcy yelled from her office. It was like she knew when someone was thinking about going home. Impressive.

When he emerged from Marcy’s office, Charlie was lurking around the corner.

“Well?” he asked.

Rand wasn’t sure how to respond, so he waited.

“You and the Ditz! What’s the latest?”

Something about Charlie’s tone made Rand suspicious.

“Okay, just tell me what the pool in the Control Room is, and I’ll tell you what’s actually going on,” he offered.

Charlie looked a little abashed. “Yeah, well a couple of us—not all of us, you understand—and no one but me and Debbie knows about the—you know—the sneaking her out thing.”

“Yeah, and—?” Rand encouraged.

“Well, we have a small pool going on when you guys break up. The others are saying the pool has to be refunded as this business with Lissa really being her sister changes the game too much. But I say no, it doesn’t. Of course, that’s because I’m still in it. But we figured we’d know when you broke up, on account of how you’d stop needing us to block her mike feed.” He looked up at Rand expectantly. “So?”

“Okay, let me see if I have this straight. I like a girl, so I talk to her. But you all figure it’s a foregone conclusion that we’re going to break up, so you bet on when—not if—that’s going to happen.”

“Hey, Jamie took the long-range view. She’s betting you guys get married.”

“How long does this pool last? Am I supposed to marry her before the show ends?” Actually, Marcy might go for that—another ratings coup?

Charlie shook his head. “Nah—if you’re still together at the wrap party, Jamie wins. You don’t need to be married.”

Rand nodded slowly. “Well, Charlie, as much I would like to help you out, things are up in the air with us. We have not broken up, we are not getting married, and the truth is somewhere in between.”

“Okay. But you’ll let us know?”

Rand had to laugh. At least someone was interested in the outcome of their relationship. “Yeah, Charlie, I’ll let you guys know.”

Libby was already awake when Lissa called from the airport. “Hey, Kesha gave me the number. I guess we’re driving there now.” Lissa sounded thrilled, like it was a big adventure.

Wrapped in the hotel’s bathrobe, Libby looked out over the Hollywood Freeway. She hadn’t slept well—she kept waking, hoping Rand would call, or even show up. She didn’t want to miss his knock. Every time she woke to a dead silence, disappointment bitter in her mouth. Lissa being here would help a lot.

“That’s great. I can’t wait to see you. We’re under house arrest, but the studio is footing the bill for all the room service we can eat.”

“I don’t suppose it’s like that hotel suite from
Pretty Woman
,” Lissa said.

“Hell, yeah. Larger than our apartment in Philly, fabulously appointed, with an implausible balcony.” Libby laughed, looking around the generic hotel room. Well, it did have a seating area, so maybe it qualified as a “suite.”

“First dibs on the bathtub big enough for two.”

“You got it,” Libby promised.

She showered and dressed, then ordered coffee and some bagels and cream cheese. She wasn’t hungry, but she wanted stuff ready for when Lissa got in. The traffic must not have been too bad, because thirty minutes after the call, Lissa walked through the connecting door.

They didn’t say anything, just hugged and hugged. Libby couldn’t seem to let go. They were still hugging when Kesha, standing in the doorway between the two rooms, coughed.

“Sorry. I have to get back to the office. You guys need anything? I talked with Marcy this morning. They’re setting up an interview with the two of you and Jeremy, but I don’t have a time yet. I’ll call you when I know. We’ll get you to the studio with tons of time for hair and makeup, okay?”

Libby pulled back a little to look into her sister’s face. She didn’t turn toward Kesha but said, “Sure. I’m guessing you’ll want us in identical haircuts, right?”

Kesha had clearly been up all night, weariness adding a decade to her face. She made a rude noise, then opened her mouth. Libby waited for her to say something pithy about her job but Kesha restrained herself. “Yeah, something like that. Okay, I’ll leave you two alone.”

Once the door closed, Lissa went straight to the interrogation.

“Well?” Lissa demanded. “The producer. Am I right?”

A chill went through Libby. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, please. Don’t insult my powers of observation, okay? You’ve been glowing on TV for weeks. At least I assume it’s the cute producer. Rand, right? Please, just tell me it’s not Dylan. Oh, Libby—if you knew what he’s been saying about you in the Shark Tank.”

“Of course it’s not the Headshot Hunk. I can guess what he’s been saying, trust me. His teeth are fake.”

“Caps?”

“Veneers. Which isn’t the point, but doesn’t that just sum him up?”

“God, yes. Okay, so it’s not Dylan, that’s a relief. But if it’s not the producer, who is it? Not Jim.”

“The Codger? No, silly—he’s nearly twice our age.”

“‘The Codger’? Who calls him that?”

“The production company. We all got cast because we fit certain types. I’m the Ditz,” Libby said proudly.

“Oh, sweetie—you must really have pulled a number on them if they thought that. But how’d you learn about this, anyway? It wasn’t how the Fish were introduced on the show.”

Libby flushed in embarrassment. Here was the tough part, explaining to Lissa how all this came about. “You were right the first time. It’s the producer. Rand Jennings. He let slip enough information for me to figure it out.”

Lissa cocked her head to one side, an odd look on her face. “Oh. But how did you spend time with him?”

“Rand’s not part of the crew—he’s a producer. You know the taped bits from the Journal Room? Well, he’s the guy who asks the questions. They edit him out so it looks like I’m just spouting stuff on my own.”

Libby paused to pour them both coffee before continuing. “Rand’s also the guy who was sent to scout you at the Cork and found me instead.”

“I knew you guys would hook up,” Lissa exclaimed. “I could tell from the beginning.”

“Nothing happened then. Then he visited in April to explain they wanted me to be ditzy. If you had wanted to do the show, I would never have told you, but you had Duke and I liked Rand, so I decided to lie to oh, about ten million people, a few of whom I actually feel bad about deceiving.”

“Lib, give it up. You made a choice, you put it out there. I’m proud of you. I’m not mad you didn’t tell me about Rand before you left for L.A. But if you don’t tell me now, I will throttle you,” Lissa said, curling up on the love seat by the windows. “Spill.”

Libby plopped down in a chair. “Okay, so when I started the game, it was just those weird Journal Room conversations. He’d talk to me last, and after we taped the necessary stuff, he turned off the camera and my mike and we would talk. Not about the game, of course,” she said, quick to rule out any cheating.