Reap What You Sew (8 page)

“A title—”

She held up her hand to indicate she wasn’t done. “And, we must not forget, his body.”

“That good?” Milo inquired.

She had to concede Leona’s point. She’d be lying if she didn’t. “For a sixty-something guy, yeah, he does. Then again, he probably has a personal trainer and his own chef.”

Milo retreated back to his seat, puffing out his chest in exaggerated fashion. “You still like me, though, right?”

“I
love
you,” she said, swatting him playfully.

He shifted the car into gear and glanced over his left shoulder, pulling back onto the road that would take them to Sweet Briar. “So she’s got this guy in her clutches?”

“Leona is trying, there’s no doubt about that. But Anita isn’t making it easy. She follows them around the set like a puppy after a bone. She seems to realize that leaving them alone together is detrimental to her standing as Warren’s leading lady off set.”

“Which means Leona is in full-blown scheme mode of her own, yes?”

That was what troubled her. Leona didn’t seem to be scheming at all. Well, apart from the whole Pooky-impersonation part that still made no sense to Tori. Wouldn’t Warren
know
she wasn’t the infamous Pooky?

Tori glanced outside, thoughts whirling through her head as fast as the scenery passed her window. Another week or so of filming and all things connecting the big screen and Sweet Briar would be over. Warren would be gone. Anita would be gone. And Leona would be left behind. Maybe
that’s
why she hadn’t resorted to scheming. Because even though Leona might be smitten, she was also smart enough to know a lost cause when it was staring at her in the face, right?

Yeah, that had to be it. Leona was simply enjoying the game and the fact that her presence was driving another woman—particularly someone of Anita’s fame and fortune—nuts.

“It’s hard to believe that’s the same place it was this morning.” Milo’s words cut through her reverie, forcing her back to the present. Sure enough, they’d arrived in Sweet Briar—a Sweet Briar that was far quieter than it had been just fourteen or so hours earlier. In fact, the only indication the whole day hadn’t been a dream was the presence of a white tent and four trailers on the north side of the town square. “Seems as if nearly everyone has packed it in for the night.”

She followed the path of Milo’s finger to a triangle of three trailers set apart slightly from a fourth, the furthest trailer and two of the three in the triangle the only real sources of light against an otherwise darkened backdrop. Occasionally a flash of light could be seen bouncing along the sidewalk surrounding the Green, but, other than that, the movie set appeared essentially locked down for the night. Like her, everyone remotely connected with the day had to be close to exhaustion. And she had done little more than sit the day away.

“Could we do Debbie’s another night? I’m getting very sleepy.” She met Milo’s eyes, grateful for the understanding she saw in them.

“I understand, sweetie.”

He steered the car in the direction of the cottage, the peace and quiet of her new hometown settling around her like a warm blanket. A right, a left, and two more rights brought them to her front walk.

“Tori?”

The feel of Milo’s hand on her shoulder snapped her from the sleepy fog that had rolled in somewhere between the town square and home. She pulled her head upright. “Huh?”

“You’re going to have to forgo your bed for just a little longer.”

She rubbed at her eyes and yawned. “Why?”

“Look there, on your front porch.” Once again, Milo’s index finger pointed the way for her sleepy eyes. “Pooky is waiting.”

She’d run out of fingers and toes a long time ago when it came to counting how many times Milo had been virtually shoved out Tori’s door by Leona Elkin. When Leona stopped by to chitchat, he was welcome to stay, her eyelashes primed and ready for their trademark flirtatious batting. But when there was a crisis that might affect his perception of her, the signals she sent to encourage his departure were not to be missed.

Fortunately, Milo was a quick learner.

And a very patient man.

“I’m sorry about this, Milo,” she whispered up at him before peering into her living room at the sixty-something woman pacing a path between her favorite plaid armchair and the tiny sewing alcove in the far corner of the room. “I have no idea what’s going on but I think it’s best if I give her all my attention at the moment. As we all know, an ignored Leona is not a pleasant Leona.”

Raking a hand through his already tousled hair, he leaned in, brushed a kiss across her forehead. “It’s fine. Really. But try not to let her stay all night, okay? You need some sleep.”

“I won’t let her go on too long. I promise.” She answered his kiss with one of her own before following him to the front door and watching him disappear into the night.

“I thought he’d never leave.”

Tori spun around and flopped against the door. “Leona! That’s not nice.”

“Nice, schmice.” Leona waved her bejeweled hand in the air then perched herself on the edge of Tori’s armchair. “I need your help.”

She felt her jaw slack open. Had she just heard correctly? Had Little-Miss-Know-it-All actually asked for help? From
her
?

“Goodness gracious, Victoria, must you stand there looking like… like… like a backwoods hillbilly who just realized indoor plumbing exists?”

The noise that started as a laugh ended up as more of a snort. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Margaret Louise was sitting in my living room instead of you.”

Leona made a face. “I’m nothing like my sister, dear.”

No kidding.

To Leona she simply shrugged. “Most of the time, I’d have to agree.” Pushing off the door, she wandered into the living room, the cloud of fatigue that had zapped her energy during the final leg of the drive finally lifting. “So what’s wrong?”

“That”—Leona clenched her teeth—“that horrible, awful leech of a thing.”

She lifted the pile of unopened mail from the end table beside the couch then paused, Leona’s words seeping into her mind. “What are you talking about?”

Swiveling her hips to the right, Leona crossed her stocking-clad legs at the ankles and nested her hands atop her lap. “Anita. Anita Belise.”

Ohhhh…

She gave up on the mail, returning it to its spot on the table before claiming a front-row seat via the couch. “You had a run-in?”

Leona glanced at the ceiling and sighed. “To have a run-in implies we had to have been apart at some point. Which we were not.”

“Huh?”

Leona’s glance turned into a full-fledged eye roll. “I simply don’t have time to address your grammar, Victoria. There are just too many other pressing matters at the moment. Like how to keep that woman from following Warren and me around like some sort of pathetic pooch.”

“Perhaps you could ask her to leave?” she suggested.

Leona uncrossed her ankles and rocketed to her feet. “I tried that. I told her that Warren and I wanted a little time alone. I even went so far as to tell her why, but she preferred to act as if I were speaking Greek.”

Tori took in everything Leona was saying, holding it up to the things Margot had shared that morning. “You do realize that Anita Belise and Warren Shoemaker are an item, don’t you?”

“They might have been at one time—”

“You mean like yesterday?”

Ignoring her, Leona continued on. “Warren is desperate for some time alone with me.”

She tucked her legs up underneath her and grabbed for the throw pillow on the opposite end of the couch. “He told you that?”

Leona stopped. “Not in so many words, no. But his eyes… his hands… they said it all.”

His hands?

It was a question she opted not to verbalize as it invited an answer she really didn’t want to hear. Instead, she chose one that had been gnawing away at her psyche all day long.

“Leona, how can you be Pooky if you weren’t
in
Paris last year?”

With dainty strides designed to highlight her shapely legs, Leona made her way back to the armchair. “I can’t. Because I’m not.”

That part she’d pretty much figured out. “Then why didn’t Warren have you tossed from his trailer the second you walked in his door?”

A knowing smile inched Leona’s cheeks upward. “I simply made him forget all about Pooky.”

“By…” she prompted.

“By this, of course.” Leona waved her hands down the sides of her body. “He took one look and—voilà!—bye-bye, Pooky.”

All righty then.

She tried another angle. “Does Anita think you’re Pooky?”

Leona shrugged a perfectly waxed eyebrow. “I don’t know what that woman thinks. All that I care about is how to make her go away.”

“Bring a bag of nuts the next time you see Warren.” Tossing the throw pillow onto the coffee table, Tori rose. “Would you like a cup of coffee? Hot chocolate? Cookies? Anything?”

“Why is it, when you have some sort of little issue, I’m always the first to offer sound advice, yet, when I need help, you get flippant?” Leona groused.

She rounded the corner into her tiny kitchen, calling over her shoulder as she did. “Who’s being flippant? The nuts are your best shot.”

“Victoria, please.”

Poking her head back into the living room, she pinned Leona with a stare of her own. “She’s allergic to them, Leona. Margot said they use nuts whenever the crew has had their fill of Anita. She even likened it to the garlic used to ward off vampires.”

“Did you say
allergic
?”

“Yes, I did. Highly, actually.” She stepped back into the kitchen and grabbed the teapot from the stove. “So, was that a yes on coffee, Leo—”

Her words were cut short by the clacking of Leona’s shoes as they crossed the living room floor, the woman’s answer coming with the slam of the front door.

With a flick of her hand, Tori filled the pot enough to accommodate the hot chocolate she’d be drinking alone. “I guess I’ll take that as a no,” she mumbled to no one in particular.

Chapter 6

It was doubtful she’d ever be able to look at the act of walking in quite the same way ever again.

Walk this way.

Stop.

Do it again.

No, no, no.

Too fast.

Too slow.

Again and again, the crew moved the extras around the southern end of the Green like chess pieces on a game board, directing everything from their facial expressions to the pace of their walk, to the aura they exuded. And when they finally got that stuff down, there was more to absorb.

Come from around the gazebo.

Lean over the fence.

Touch the tree.

Look happy.

No, that’s too happy.

Being a part of the process, Tori couldn’t help but wonder how movies ever got made. Especially when common everyday people were part of the mix.

“Okay, guys, you’re doing good. Real good.” Margot held up her hands and gestured the scene’s extras into a huddle. “The guys have what they need, which means we’ll be doing the actual shoot soon. Let’s break for lunch in the tent and be back here in thirty. Sound good?”

A heavyset man shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Mind if I eat the lunch my wife made me? Fruit and cheese doesn’t really go all too far with me.”

“Fine. Fine. But keep it in the tent, will you? The last thing I—or any of my coworkers—need is a dressing-down for unapproved food being too close to…” Margot’s voice trailed off, her words drowned out by the sound of Tori’s cell phone.

She felt her face warm. “Oh, wow, I’m sorry. I thought I had it on vibrate.” Pulling the phone from her back pocket, Tori glanced at the caller ID screen.

Margaret Louise.

“If we’re breaking for lunch, is it okay if I take this call?” she asked.

For a split second she thought Margot was going to protest, some song and dance about the need for total focus all but visible on the tip of the girl’s tongue, but, in the end, all Tori got was a begrudging shrug. “Make it quick, will you? And if Kelly gives you any grief about not being with me, just show him your name tag. That guy’s a little over-the-top where his job is concerned and I have enough to deal with without adding RoboCop to the list.”

“He’s still here after letting Pooky through?” one of the extras asked.

“He won’t be for long if the short-lived careers of his predecessors are any indication,” Margot mused. Motioning for the group to follow her to the food tent, she continued, her voice taking on an almost recitation quality as if the matter at hand was fairly routine. “Once he’s outed as the chink in the armor, though, his fate is sealed. That’s a given.”

Tori stepped to the edge of the sidewalk to allow her fellow extras to get by, their excitement for lunch and a half-hour break bringing a much-needed bounce back to their steps. She glanced down at the phone again, Margaret Louise’s name replaced by a missed call icon.

Without waiting to see if a voice mail had been left, she flipped the phone open and dialed the familiar number. It was answered on the first ring.