Vanilla Beaned (10 page)

She realized there had been a look of uncertainty on Levi's face that had lasted no more than a second, but still, it had been the look of someone who was afraid. Mel watched him closely for the rest of the show and noted that he and Holly had the same exchange a couple more times. It was as if Holly was his shield against insecurity. Mel supposed she could have been reading more into it than there was, but she didn't think so.

The show ended in a finale that had everyone on their feet, clapping and cheering. Mel counted five costume changes for Holly and knowing the stairs she had to traverse with the heavy headdresses, she really wasn't surprised that Holly was over it. Maybe a life in the limelight just wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Carlos collected them from their table at the end of the show. He told them that Holly was down in her dressing room and wanted to know if they wanted to meet her down there. Mel almost passed, knowing she would have to come back up those stairs but she really wanted to see Holly and tell her how wonderful she had been. She heaved a sigh and followed Carlos and Angie.

He led them right to Holly's door. Mel went to knock but the grumpy bulldog, Fancy Leroux, who had been upbraiding Holly before the show, yanked the door open before she could.

“You!” Fancy snapped, pointing a bony finger at Mel. “I want to talk to you.”

Startled, Mel jumped. As she gazed at the elderly woman, who was giving her a fierce blast of stink eye from the open door to Holly's dressing room, she wondered if she could take her. Sure she could. Right? How tough could the old bird be?

Her confidence was not boosted when Angie moved in beside her as if to protect her from the octogenarian.

“I think I got this,” Mel said.

“She used to be a dancer,” Angie argued. “She could probably crack you like a walnut with one well-placed kick.”

“Your faith in me is remarkably underwhelming.”

Angie shrugged.

“Can I help you?” Mel asked the woman.

“You're the bakers,” Fancy said.

“Yes.” Mel didn't think lying was going to help at this point.

“You are ruining Holly's life and, more importantly, my show,” Fancy said. “Why are you encouraging this madness?”

“I'm going to assume you're talking about Holly opening a bakery,” Mel said.

“She bakes a mean cupcake,” Carlos said. Fancy glared at him with her black eyes and he took a step back. “Yeah, I'm just going to head back upstairs. Call me if you need me.”

It would have felt more sincere if he hadn't been running away when he added that last bit over his shoulder.

“I'm sorry that you don't approve of Holly wanting to open her own business but I really think that's between you and Holly and doesn't have anything to do with us,” Mel said.

“You don't understand,” Fancy cried. She opened her arms wide in a very melodramatic gesture, forcing both Mel and Angie to take a step back. “Every show has a heart. Holly is ours. If you take her away, the show will lose its heart. It will collapse onto itself like a hollow chest and it will die. You can't let her do this.”

Mel had no idea what to say to this. Fancy was clearly agitated and she had a feeling there was nothing that she could say that would reassure the woman that the show would be fine.

“It's not really up to us,” Angie said. “It's Holly's choice to make.”

“Pah!” Fancy waved an age-spotted hand as if she were swatting a fly. “Ever since she had that kid, her priorities have been screwed up.”

Mel bit her lip. She disliked it when women weighed in on the choices other women made in regards to having a family or not. It was such a personal decision. How did any woman feel entitled to judge another's journey?

“Holly is a grown woman and can do whatever she wants,” Mel said. “Maybe you need to stop trying to keep her here and work on finding someone to fill her spot.”

“There is no one!” Fancy yelled. “No one can do what she does. It takes years of intensive training to be able to manage the shows as effortlessly as she can.”

A young woman with bright red hair and freckles across her nose joined them.

“Excuse me, Fancy. Maria in makeup is looking for you,” she said.

Fancy swung around and looked the girl over from head to toe. “Look at those hips, you look like you just came in off the field. When are you going to slim down? If you want to have a shot at the lead, lose the weight!”

With that, Fancy stomped away, making the floor reverberate as she went. For a former dancer, she sure knew how to make an impact on the floor.

The redhead blew out a breath and glanced down at her body with a look of such self-loathing, Mel had to resist the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her.

“You know she's just lashing out at you, right?” Mel asked. “You're as slender as a blade of grass.”

“She's right,” Angie chimed in. “I watched you out
there tonight. You were spectacular and the crowd loved you. Don't let the mean old fusspot get to you.”

“Thanks.” The woman tried to smile but it didn't meet her eyes. “But I'm going to throw up everything I've eaten in the past twenty-four hours now.”

“You are not.” The door to Holly's private bathroom was yanked open and there stood Holly in a blue paisley silk bathrobe and with a towel wrapped around her head. Her makeup was half off, which, combined with her ferocious expression, made her a bit scary looking. “Sit down, all of you.”

She crossed the room and sat at her vanity table. She began swabbing her face with make-up remover while studying their reflections in the mirror.

“Sorry I didn't get to the door faster to stop Fancy from being hateful. I was on the phone with Billy,” she said. “I wanted to make sure Sydney was all right.”

“Is she?” the redhead asked.

“Yes,” Holly said. She flashed them a small smile. “She's tucked in safe and sound. Now what was Fancy going on about out there?”

“She blames us for you leaving the show,” Mel said. She turned to the redhead and said, “I'm Melanie Cooper and this is Angie DeLaura. We're the owners of the bakery in Arizona that Holly is looking to franchise.”

“Oh, hi, I'm sorry. Fancy berated the good manners right out of me. I'm Sunny Evans, I'm in the chorus line.”

“That's not all you are,” Holly said. “You're my understudy, and the person who will take the lead when I leave.”

“Not if Fancy has her way,” Sunny said. “She thinks I'm too farm girl.”

“No, she doesn't,” Holly said. “She's just used to having me here to boss around and she doesn't like the fact that she'll have to break a new girl in. You're the best dancer out there and everyone knows it. You've got natural pizzazz and you kick higher than I ever could.”

“I don't have your stage presence and Levi doesn't trust me like he trusts you,” Sunny argued.

“He will,” Holly said. “These things take time.”

“Speaking of, I have to go,” Sunny said. “I have a tear on my costume for the opening act that I need Stacey to mend.”

“All right,” Holly said. “Hey, do not let what Fancy said get to you. If you lose so much as an ounce of weight, I'll bake you a dozen rum raisin cupcakes and make sure you eat every single one.”

Sunny laughed and held up her hands in surrender. “See? That's another reason you can't leave the show. You're my best friend. Who will threaten me with baked goods if you leave?”

“I can threaten you just as easily from my bakery,” Holly said. The door closed behind Sunny and Holly looked at them and added, “Assuming I can find a place to open one.”

“About that,” Mel said. “We have some news.”

Holly glanced at her face and Mel knew she could tell it was more bad news.

“Don't try to cushion it. I'm tougher than I look. I can take it. What is it?” Holly asked.

“Scott Jensen passed away from his injuries,” Mel said. “The Las Vegas PD has not ruled it an accident, meaning they are still considering homicide as a possibility.”

“Oh, that poor, poor man,” Holly said. “I feel horrible. This shouldn't have happened.”

“Tate said the police aren't giving any details but they are investigating whether the leak was intentional,” Angie said.

Holly finished wiping the last of her foundation off and slowly lowered the cotton cloth from her face. She looked like she was going to cry.

“This is a nightmare,” she said. “Why would someone do this?”

“I don't know,” Mel said. “But—”

There was a knock on the door and then it banged open. In strode Levi Cartwright, still in his tuxedo but with his bow tie hanging loose about his neck.

“How did I do, was I funny, I didn't feel like I was funny. I don't think people were really enjoying my shtick. I'm washed up, aren't I?” He was halfway into the room before he noticed Mel and Angie. A pained look crossed his face before he forced a laugh and said, “So, enough about me, what do you think of me?”

Angie laughed but it sounded strained as if she didn't really think he was funny but she didn't want to hurt his feelings. Mel smiled but she felt like she was forcing it. Levi turned to Holly, and she saved him from himself.

“Levi Cartwright!” she said. “You are hilarious and you know it. Don't be fishing for compliments from my guests. They saw the show and loved it, didn't you, girls?”

Mel and Angie both relaxed under Holly's leadership and they immediately heaped the praise on Levi. He seemed to puff up visibly with their words.

“Now I need to get going and you need to go home and get some rest for tomorrow's show,” Holly said. She rose and put her arm around Levi's shoulders as she escorted him to the door. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait.” Levi stopped her from shutting the door.

He glanced past her at Mel and Angie and then leaned in close to Holly to whisper something. Holly whispered something back and their exchange went on for a bit longer and then Levi left.

When Holly closed the door, she leaned against it and closed her eyes. Mel had the feeling she was either exhausted, seeking inner peace, or trying to process all that had happened in the past twenty minutes.

“I love them all dearly,” Holly said. She opened her eyes and pushed off the door. She walked back to her vanity and opened the lid on her moisturizer. “But I am tired of carrying this show, everyone's expectations, worries, and neuroses on my back.”

“As if the thirty-pound headdress isn't enough,” Angie said. “I can see why you're ready to downshift.”

Holly smiled at her in the mirror but then her expression faltered. “Unless someone has their way and stops me.”

“We won't let them,” Mel said. Then in a singularly rash moment of optimism, she added, “I promise.”

Mel and Angie cooled their heels in the green room while Holly changed back into her street clothes. She had a performer's nonchalance about changing in front of them
and both Mel and Angie studied the pictures on the wall of Holly with different celebrities when Holly dropped her robe and began to dress.

When they arrived upstairs, they found Tate waiting for them in the theater. He hugged Angie and Mel and gave Holly a grim smile and a nod.

“So, I'm thinking what we need is a junk food–infused movie night to clear our minds. Who's with me?” Tate asked.

The vote was unanimous. They all drove back to Holly's place, figuring she shouldn't be left alone until they knew who they were dealing with and why.

Holly's sports car zipped into her driveway with Mel right behind her. Tate was riding shotgun and he frowned.

“I don't like this,” he said.

“What?” Mel asked. “Camping out at Holly's?”

“No, the gate being open,” he said. “It feels . . . wrong.”

“Probably Holly has a remote in her car. Maybe she hit it as she approached,” Angie said from the backseat.

“Catch up to her,” Tate said to Mel.

Mel hit the gas and roared up right behind Holly. An enormous black limousine was parked in front of the house and Mel had to slam on her brakes to avoid hitting it.

“Way to make an entrance,” Tate said. He hopped out of the car and jogged over to Holly's car. Mel and Angie hurried after him.

“Do you know who the stretch belongs to?” Tate asked Holly as she climbed out of her car.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. She looked like she was bracing herself as she turned to face the car. Mel and Angie
instinctively moved to flank her with Tate standing a little in front of the three women with his arms crossed over his chest.

The uniformed driver hopped out of the limo and quickly opened the rear passenger door. A well-heeled men's shoe appeared followed by an equally snappy pant leg. The man who stepped out of the back had movie star good looks and an aura of power that charged the air like an electrical storm.

“Holly, you're looking as lovely as always,” he said.

“Byron,” Holly said. If her tone were any chillier, the man would have had icicles hanging off his nose.

“May I have a word?” He gestured for her to join him in his car but she shook her head.

“Anything you want to say to me, you can say to my business partners,” she said.

His immaculately shaped eyebrows drew together in a fierce frown. His tone was equally frosty when he spoke. “You're really going through with this bakery nonsense?”

“Yes,” she said. “Here, let me introduce you to my associates so you'll know exactly who it is that you're insulting. Tate Harper, Angie DeLaura, and Melanie Cooper, this is Byron Dorsett. He owns the Casablanca Theater among other things.”

Byron strode forward and extended his hand. Tate gave him a dark look before shaking it. Mel knew that look. Tate did not like this man, not at all. Byron did not extend his hand to Mel or Angie, letting Mel know exactly how he felt about women, as second-class citizens not worthy
of his acknowledgment. Big mistake. It made her want to knee him in the junk repeatedly.

Angie was emitting a low growl in her throat, and Mel was surprised Byron didn't keel over dead from the death stare she had focused on him.