Love in Reality: A Contemporary Romance (The Blackjack Quartet) (33 page)

Rand’s voice got him back on track. “Do you have anything to say to Libby?”

“No [beep] way. Why should I be nice to the [beep] after she pulled that [beep].”

There was a pause when neither man said anything. Then Dylan looked straight at the camera, flashed those veneers—Libby could hear Lissa snicker—and said in his special actor’s voice, “Hey, kid. Nice job. Yeah.” He froze for a second, then dropped the phoniness. “Okay? That good enough for you?” he snarled as he stood up.

Libby was still chuckling when the tape ended. She turned to Lissa. “Was he like that all summer?”

“Oh, that was nothing. He’s usually worse,” Lissa said.

“Wow. I sure hope you have it all saved on your DVR.”

Jeremy wound up the interview, and the AD said they were clear. As if on cue, Marcy strode in with her retinue trailing behind. Libby saw Rand had moved up to a more senior position right behind Marcy’s left shoulder. She struggled not to stare at him.

“Right,” Marcy said. “That went well, I think.” She didn’t look happy. Libby risked a glance at Rand. He was staring at Lissa. He had to have seen the interview. Why didn’t he look at
her
?

Marcy pontificated about the integrity of the show while Jeremy was getting un-miked. Libby had to keep from laughing out loud when Jeremy rolled his eyes at Marcy’s pompous speech.

“I can’t forgive this deliberate attempt to violate the principle of reality TV. Really,” Marcy was saying. “When I think how hard I’ve worked to—”

Lissa stood up. Libby stared at her sister in shock.

“Oh, please. You’re just pissed off you didn’t think to exploit identical twins in this way. You’d have loved it if it had been your idea.”

Now everyone was staring at Lissa, who glared at Marcy. “I’m not the legal scholar here, but you know there was no intent to dupe the show. Things happen. Barney’s wife got cancer. I fell in love, Lib lost her summer job. We didn’t ask for those things to happen, and if any one of them went the other way, she wouldn’t be here. So go lecture some cancer cells, or the schmucks who rescinded Libby’s job offer a month before she was supposed to start work. Hell, blame the economy. But you can stop blaming us.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Lissa, grinning madly, turned to face Libby. “Ah—so
that’s
what moot court is like.”

Libby hugged her sister, whispering, “I’m so proud of you,” in her ear.

“Me too. Proud of you, I mean.”

When they stepped apart, Libby checked the crowd. Marcy must have left in disgust. Rand and a few other people were still standing there, not doing much. Rand had eyes only for Lissa.

“Hi, I’m Rand Jennings,” he introduced himself to Lissa, holding out a hand. Lissa smiled, clearly thrilled to meet him. They proceeded to act as though they’d always known each other. One of the nameless interns tapped Libby on the arm, saying she could collect the rest of her luggage now.

When Libby got back to the Kiss-and-Cry, Rand and Lissa were laughing about something. Libby felt frozen inside, her skin prickling in alarm. What was going on? Why wouldn’t Rand look at her?

As Libby approached, Lissa cried, “You didn’t tell me Rand’s dad is Alan Jennings!” Lissa turned back to Rand. “Oh, wow. I love your dad’s shows.
Sweet Cherry
was my favorite growing up, remember, Lib? You didn’t like it so much, as I recall.”

Libby felt as stupid as she must look. “Your dad is Alan Jennings? ‘The King of TV for Teens’?” She gaped at him. Why hadn’t he told her? How many hours were they together and he couldn’t find time to mention this? She felt hollow, as though her heart and soul had blown away on a cold wind.

Rand looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, I don’t mention it normally. I guess Lissa saw a picture of us as a family, so she asked.” He glanced around swiftly—Libby got it that she wasn’t to let on how well they knew each other. She wanted to hit him. What did he think she was, an idiot? He couldn’t seriously be worried that she was incapable of keeping a secret.

Lissa waxed nostalgic about the People magazine article on the Jennings family back when Rand was seventeen, the age of the typical viewer of his father’s shows. “Oh, come on, Lib—you have to remember. I tore the picture out and kept it on my bulletin board for, oh it must have been a year or more.” She turned back to Rand. “I had such a crush on you.”

Libby just shook her head. She didn’t remember the photo, she didn’t remember Lissa’s crush and she barely remembered the show. She knew who Alan Jennings was, of course. He’d followed in the footsteps of John Hughes, only in television. Everyone who grew up in the nineties knew his shows. She could even picture the animation for Minor Developments, his production company. Every episode of
Sweet Cherry
closed with an empty cornucopia from which rolled a single tiny pumpkin.

None of which helped Libby comprehend that Rand’s dad was this particular famous television producer. Lissa rolled her eyes at Libby’s cluelessness, sharing a smile with Rand about the cultural ignorance of
some people
. Libby still couldn’t think of anything to say. “Small world, hunh?” didn’t seem to cut it.

“Libby, are you okay?” Rand asked. She’d been staring at him. She felt as if her brain had stopped working. She didn’t know what she was hoping to see in his face.

She shook her head and looked away. “Sorry. I think I’m tired. No, actually, I know I’m tired. Lissa, we should be going.”

“Wait, Libby, I—” Rand started. He put a hand on her left arm. She looked up at him. His face tightened with some emotion. Worry, or maybe anxiety. Did he care? He must. He was a decent guy. He wouldn’t sleep with someone, wouldn’t talk to someone they way they’d talked, without caring.

She held out her hand. “Thanks for everything. I had a great summer. Sorry about the uh, deception,” she said with a smile. Probably not a very convincing smile, but better than nothing.

He looked stunned, almost shocked. He shook her hand absently, still not saying anything. Then his face went distant and professional. “You kept us on our toes, Libby. Good luck with law school.” He turned to Lissa, who had been looking back and forth at the two of them like it was the finals at Wimbledon. His smile widened, and became more genuine. “It was great to meet you, Lissa. I’m sorry you won’t be able to stay in L.A. longer.”

“Me too,” Lissa said. “More than you know.” She scowled at Libby. Lissa’s pinpoint stare lacked its usual sting. Libby didn’t care anymore. She was wrung out and wanted to leave the studio more than she’d thought possible. Another five minutes and it was a toss-up whether she was going to sob or scream.

One of Marcy’s minions—not Kesha, the nameless one—came to Libby’s rescue, telling them the car was ready. “The driver’s been instructed to take you wherever you need to go,” the woman said.

“Thanks,” Libby said. She turned to Lissa with a cocked eyebrow—
Ready?
Lissa hesitated and glanced at Rand, who was still watching them with a stoic expression. Libby didn’t care anymore if her sister was with her. It was past time to go.

They left. Libby didn’t look back.

In the studio town car, Libby stared out the window, trying to avoid the death ray glares Lissa was throwing at her.

Finally, Libby swiveled around. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

Lissa arched her eyebrows. If she wore glasses, she’d be looking over the top of them in disapproval.

“Just tell me what the guy did to deserve the iceberg treatment.”

Libby rubbed her eyes, then tucked her hair behind her ears. “Nothing. He did nothing. We had a fling, that’s all.”

Lissa snorted. “I’ll back you up on that version of events with anyone else, including Mom and Dad, but between us? No. That was no fling. You fell for him and then something went wrong. What was it?”

“I was lying. I was pretending to be you. In some ways, I was you. Then when you and I are together, I go back to being me.”

“Yeah, so?” Lissa’s tone reminded her they’d had this conversation before. “You aren’t the quiet little bookish mouse and you know it. So stop playing that sad song and spit it out. What did Randall Jennings do to piss you off?”

Deep breath. “He never told me who his dad was.”

“Alan Jennings? What’s he got to do with it?”

“Well, it changes who I thought Rand was.” Libby really needed her twin to get this. “He was just this nice producer, a worker drone like I’ll be. Then I find out his father has his own production company? And suddenly stuff makes more sense, like the way the other production people treated Rand, and even this weird thing at a hotel a few weeks ago.”

“What weird thing?” Lissa asked.

Libby frowned. “I don’t know what it was about, but Rand got stopped by two prosperous-looking men. In a law firm, they’d be senior partners. They were thrilled to see him, and even mentioned Rand’s dad. He hustled me out of the lobby while he kept talking to the two old guys. At the time I assumed it was because he didn’t want them to recognize me, but now I wonder if he didn’t want me to learn who he was.”

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“I tried to, indirectly. But he just clammed up. Shutters drawn, no one’s home. And I knew what that was, because I had to be on guard all summer long not to say something about school or my job or anything.”

Lissa leaned her head against the headrest and stared at the roof of the car. “So you figure he never meant to tell you,” she said finally.

“Exactly.” Libby felt like she could breathe again. “I don’t care who his father is. I care who Rand is. At least I had an excuse for lying.”

“I think I get it,” Lissa said. “Okay, then. It was a fling. Official story.”

Libby looked at her, but Lissa had her eyes closed. Official story…or the truth?

* * *

She hadn’t looked back. That stayed in Rand’s mind for the rest of the day, the image of her walking out of the studio. Walking away from him.

He knew Libby was upset. She’d wanted some time and privacy to talk to him. He didn’t need her explanations. He understood why she’d pretended to be Lissa, and he knew why she hadn’t told him the truth. She realized Marcy would grill him about the twin switch and that he needed to be able to say, honestly, that he hadn’t known. Then, by the end of the interview, when he could have pulled her aside, Libby clearly wanted no part of him. Rand couldn’t figure it out.

Damned if he had the time to puzzle it out, either. Marcy blamed him for recruiting Libby/Lissa in the first place. She’d left him with a to-do list a mile long—stuff her assistants should be doing—in addition to his prep for the last ten days of taping. The end of the season was always a work-only zone for him, but for the first time Rand couldn’t imagine what his life would be like when he resurfaced. His life was flying back to Philadelphia, and he’d done nothing to stop her.

He checked his watch. He had a few dozen new texts from Marcy now, and it was only going to get worse when her masseur finished in her office.

He was working his way through the scripts for the final three elimination competitions when Debbie stopped by. Rand was in his usual spot, perched on some crates near the smoked windows overlooking the garden. He hadn’t looked at the Fishbowl garden once since Libby left
The Fishbowl
, but in a twisted way it comforted him to be in his usual spot.

“Hey,” Debbie said as she hopped onto a neighboring crate.

He grunted.

“Crazy twenty-four hours, hunh?”

Rand just grimaced, but he shut his laptop and leaned back against the wall.

“You okay?” Debbie asked finally.

“Not really, no.”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know. I just… I don’t know. She left. Walked right out the door without a backward glance.” He swallowed hard. “I wished her well in law school,” he said.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

Debbie looked sympathetic—she’d been pulling for him and Libby.

“What could I say with people milling around? I figured Marcy had put Kesha and Greta on spy detail.”

“Good call,” Deb confirmed. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t have a chance.”

“At this rate, Marcy could fire me and I think all I’d feel was relief.” When Deb made a noise like a shotgun being pumped and aimed it at him, he laughed. “Oh, sorry. Yes, of course I would be intensely sorry to leave you in the lurch with ten days to go.”

“Better.” Debbie leaned back against the wall.

They were silent for a while, then Rand said quietly, “I wasn’t able to talk to her before she left.”

“Huh.”

“I talked to her on the phone last night, but Marcy was in the room. I could tell Libby wanted me to call her back—even in the middle of the night—but I didn’t.”

“Why not? Lord knows you should be used to clandestine, middle-of-the-night operations by now.”

“I don’t know.” Rand let the silence sag between them. “I just don’t know.”

“Do you want her in your life?” Deb asked.

“Yes.”

“There you go.”

“It’s not that simple,” he protested.

“What’s not simple about it?”

“Oh, let’s see. We live in different cities, we have different careers—hell, for all I know she’s got a nifty legal career cued up in Philadelphia.”

“So you have to talk about that stuff. That’s what couples do—they negotiate. So negotiate.”

“I guess.”

He could hear Debbie shifting position. “Look, you guys have had the damnedest relationship I know of—and as you can imagine, I’ve seen some truly kinky stuff. But I saw you two together. You fit. She gets you. She makes you happy. She got you moving, thinking. For two years, you’ve been like one of those robots that clean the swimming pool—busy and smart but not making any progress. This thing with Lissa—”

“Libby.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still getting used to that part. Anyway, this thing has been productive. You worked on it, and it was just starting to grow roots. Don’t abandon it. Talk to her.” She leaned forward, causing the crate to creak. “Don’t wait, okay?”

“Okay.”

He heard Debbie jump off and walk away. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.