Secrets
By Elaine Hopper

© copyright by Elaine Hopper, June 2001
Cover Art by Jenny Dixon
1-58608-207-8
Gemstar Edition 1-58608-349-x
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA
www.newconceptspublishing.com

CHAPTER ONE

"Mr. Right’s just a myth." Screenwriter Lindsay Jordan sighed loudly, cupping her chin in her hand, the nub of her elbow resting on her upraised knee. Anxious fingers drummed her lower lip. Riotous mahogany curls cascaded around her shoulders, draping her knees as she sat bent in her auditorium chair. "If he’s out there, he’d be smart enough to know to steer clear of Sabrina." Lowering her voice to a hushed whisper, she inclined her head towards the woman primping on stage. "Even for make-believe."

Ken, the director of the daytime drama, Secrets, for which Lindsay worked, chuckled. His belly rolled up and down. Forest green eyes twinkled merrily. Auditorium lights winked off his bald head. His wrinkled head reminded her of the map of Colorado. She wished all men were as nice, as decent, as this one. Then maybe she’d give her mother the badly coveted grandchild she wanted.

Secrets filled most of Lindsay’s days, but it couldn’t fill her nights. A small, upstart soap, on a small, struggling television network, most of Secrets staff pulled double duty to keep the station out of the red. Thus, Lindsay not only dreamed up the show’s story lines, she was the screenwriter. She didn’t mind the extra load. Where else could she get this kind of experience at this velocity?

With a forbearance born of knowing Sabrina‘s temper tantrums too well, she smiled at her friend. It was only with restraint she didn’t roll her eyes.

The tapping of the toe of his brown penny loafer on the hard auditorium floor clanged loud in the emptiness. Senior director and acting casting director of Secrets daytime drama, Ken had bailed his temperamental staff out of more jams and knew them better than their own fathers.

"We just auditioned the creme de la creme of soap actors on both coasts--and not one of them met with Miss High and Mighty's approval." Lindsay chuckled without mirth, fighting a strong desire to hang her head. "Not one Slade Parish in the bunch. I could accept that Gilchrest fellow if we have to." But she didn’t want to. He could act. He was handsome. He was a big name in the soap world. But he just wasn’t Slade.

She fought the sigh struggling to whoosh from her chest. With the eye of one not impressed, she studied their prima donna leading lady on stage finger combing her glorious strawberry blonde hair and studying her perfectly manicured nails. How Sabrina loved to be in the spotlight.

Lowering her eyes to the notepad on her lap, Lindsay tapped the end of her pen on the pad, considering her options, noting her stubby writer’s nails. Wryly, she wrinkled her nose.

"We haven't auditioned quite everybody yet. There's still a guy who's been working in off-Broadway productions." Ken glanced at his casting call sheet. "Jeffrey Andrews."

"Off-Broadway?" She tried to keep the sneer out of her voice. Visions of men in Shakespeare-type tights, plumes sticking out of ridiculous looking hats who posed under balconies didn’t exactly send her libido into a spin. It took some doing, but she bit back her laughter. "I don't think Slade's out there." He certainly didn’t dance around in tight leggings. Exhaling deeply, she flipped her hair over her shoulders, leaning back in her soft-cushioned chair. "There's no such thing as the perfect man--except Clark Kent or Drew Roberts." A dreamy smile played around the corners of her lips. Her contralto voice softened huskily without volition as her stomach muscles contracted. Visions of the dream man she’d created, a tall man with milk chocolate eyes and brown-black hair who would champion her and think she walked on clouds, danced in her mind. What she wouldn’t give for such a man.

"Drew Roberts?" An odd inflection tinged Ken’s voice. Enlightenment dawned in his eyes. "You mean the top secret agent/lady killer of the sixties?"

"One and the same." Lindsay pretended to study her illegible scrawl to hide the heat creeping into her cheeks. "I created the perfect man whom we both know is a fantasy." Shudders crawled down her spine when she thought about the dark alleys behind the studio, even in broad daylight. "If I created a Freddy Kruger we could find a million of them!" Muttering under her breath in a caustic voice, she lamented the extinction of all good men on the planet while she doodled on her pad. "Real life heroes are an extinct breed."

"Come again." Ken leaned toward her, dangerous lights glinting in his irises. Dragon-hot breath fanned her cheeks.

Realizing she’d stuck her foot in her mouth, Lindsay quickly backtracked, trying not to cringe. Why did she have such a knack for saying the wrong things? She did so much better sticking to writing, where she could edit her words before they escaped, where she had a proof reader strike out her errors. "I mean, all the good men are married." But she couldn’t help a disillusioned grumble. "My last three dates made Freddy Kruger look like Frasier."

Ken laughed merrily, as if her dating life were the best joke he’d heard in a long time.

Dredging up her most lethal glare, she favored him with it, but it didn’t make a dent in his jocularity. If anything, he laughed louder. Men. Had they no empathy? No sympathy? If Ken weren’t her boss and best friend, she’d tilt her nose in the air, turn her head and walk away. Under the circumstances, she gave him a strained smile, her nails digging into the palms of her hand.

"Maybe we shot a mite too high with this story line? I know Bruce is on everybody’s back to win the Daytime Emmy's best story line this year, but maybe you should have shot for something more realistic. Poor boy turned billionaire bad boy, ghosts or guardian angels. The norm..." He peered closely at her. "Confess Linds. Is this really your personal dating service?"

She fought the urge to punch him in his shoulder. Hard. The harumph that chortled in her throat couldn’t be tamped down and it escaped without her permission. "Hardly. Actors can’t be trusted. I’d sooner date a garbage collector."

"Our cast would love to know just how much you love them." A long frown marred Ken’s face and he locked gazes with her, his green eyes blazing into hers. "I know where you’re coming from, but could you hide the attitude? Some of the cast is on the warpath."

"Dad left us before I was old enough to remember him." She held up her fingers and ticked off her reason for loathing actors. As she stared into the past, she saw herself as a lonely little girl with a tear streaked face asking her mother why she didn’t have a daddy like all her friends. "It wasn't easy growing up without a dad."

"Look. The last thing in the world I want to do is make you sad." Ken placed a warm hand on her shoulder and squeezed. When a tear trickled down her cheek, he brushed it off with the pad of his thumb. "But you were engaged to marry an actor."

"Major mistake." She sighed deeply, drum rolling her fingertips on her note pad. Gazing at a tiny pin prick of light on stage, she looked into the past then shied away with a shake of her head. "If I lay eyes on Gary Alexander again, it’ll be too soon." Her gaze clashed with Ken's. "There! I said his name and the world didn't swallow me. There’s life after actors."

"That's a little difficult as he's starring in the movie of the week. Commercials are all over TV."

"As who? Ted Bundy?" Her head lolled back against the soft cushion, her sightless gaze staring in the vicinity of the ceiling. "Thanks for the warning. I’ll skip tv this week, thank you. My web page is calling, anyway."

"Uh-hmm!" Sabrina raised her lilting voice that could lure a thousand ships or screech like Hell's furies. "Can we get on with the audition? My make-up’s melting." She whirled on-stage in a perfect beauty queen pirouette then spoiled the effect by pouting. Spiked heels clicked on the hollow stage, each click a gun shot in the otherwise eerily silent auditorium.

"W. I. T. C. H." Her chin brushing the top of his shoulder, Lindsay whispered in Ken’s ear.

She felt his body shake with laughter before the pleasant tones of it tickled her ear. He cast her a sly glance and stretched to his full height, casting her in his shadow. "Jeffrey Andrews!" Great acoustics amplified the sound that reverberated throughout the auditorium. "Come on down!"

Leaning forward in her chair, Lindsay hoped against hope the next actor could act his way out of a paper bag. If not, Ken would be forced to sign that Gilchrest fellow.

But her thoughts stopped dead when a Greek god sauntered onto the stage, looming over Ken and Lindsay as if he were Apollo. When his lips curved toward the ceiling, his smile illuminated the room.

Her jaw dropped. The forgotten notepad slid out of her fingers to the floor. Had she time traveled? Was she hallucinating? Did her eyes deceive her? She had modeled this story line after one of Drew Robert's most famous movies back in the late sixties. She must be dreaming.

"Clumsy me." When she bent to retrieve the book, her knuckles grazed the floor. "You know who he resembles, don't you?" Awe laced her voice. She kept slanting secretive glances at the specter before her, hoping her attention went unnoticed by the object of her focus.

"Who?" Ken gazed at the actor on stage, who stood regally, as if he was a king and not a thespian.

"Drew Roberts, that's who," she hissed.

"That old codger?" He turned to look at her.

"I think so." Mammoth butterflies flew loop-de-loops in her belly. This man spelled danger with a capital D.

Ken cupped his hands around his mouth megaphone-style. "Are we ready to rock and roll?"

"Ready and waiting." Sabrina preened, looking like a wood nymph in her flowered dress and long flowing strawberry blonde hair. Topaz eyes flashed. Lindsay could practically smell her pheromones going into over drive.

"You mean ready and panting." Lindsay struck a movie starlet pose, pushed out her breasts, tilted her nose in the air and flicked her hair behind her shoulder. "Methinks I smell a cat in heat." She should have rejoiced at this explosive chemistry that could propel their story line to Emmy winning status--after all--that was the point of holding a casting call. Yet, primitive jealousy seethed inside her, twisting her gut.

"I'm ready." Jeff’s voice projected through the auditorium with true star quality. He brushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead. She couldn't take her eyes off him. A gold Rolex watch peeked out from beneath the sleeve of his Italian-made suit jacket. Stage lights reflected off its crystal face.

"Okay people." Ken’s long shadow swallowed her. "Let’s go." He’d slipped into drill sergeant mode.

Jeff opened his script, glanced at it, then rolled it up, sticking it in his back pocket. Sabrina had discarded hers long ago and had begun ad-libbing. Lindsay flinched at some of the things that came out of Sabrina's mouth, but it was Sabrina’s incessant flirting that made her want to crawl under the seat.

Before her hungry eyes, Jeff transformed into Slade Parish, the prodigal son returned to the bosom of his wealthy, powerful family--except Slade was an impostor with cutting edge plastic surgery, lethal hands and an even more lethal smile. No one knew who really hid behind Slade's ever changing mask. Like Remington Steele, Slade remained an enigma even to those closest to him.

On stage, Jeff thrust open the door, heedless that it slammed against the wall, a secretive smile playing on his lips. Mist swirled behind him, making it appear that he ambled in from a different dimension.

Sabrina’s eyes widened. Her lips parted in wonder and she froze like a statue. A sudden gust of wind lifted her skirts, revealing long, shapely legs. A slow smile spread over her face until it transformed into the epitome of bliss.

"Slade!" The actress’s lips trembled. Tears clung to golden tipped eyelashes, shimmering. Her slight shoulders quivered. "Is it really you? You’re alive?"

"Nothing, no one, could keep me from you," Slade murmured. "Not even the angel of death." He sauntered toward Sabrina, his black eyes twinkling. Unsteady fingers raked through his ebony hair. "The thought of you kept me alive in that prison..."

Sabrina floated across stage and flung herself into Jeff’s outstretched arms.

She hugged him so tightly, Lindsay couldn’t see a flicker of light between them. She scowled.

"You’ve been in prison? Where? For how long?"

Jeff put two fingers against her lips, looking down at her with love in his eyes. "Shush darling. I don’t want to talk about that now." He buried his face in Sabrina’s silky tresses. "I just want to hold you in my arms, feel your lips on mine. Let’s talk later. We have all the time in the world."

Slade swept Sabrina's character, Saffron Wells, off her feet--literally. Herculean arms cradled Sabrina to his chest, his long, artistic fingers kneading her back until she purred.

The tigress melted into his arms, pressing herself much too close. Lindsay doubted Sabrina was acting. She nuzzled her face against his cheek, her wide lips a fraction of an inch from his.

Lindsay shuffled her feet and doodled on her note pad. A guttural growl rose in her throat, surprising even her. She stared, transfixed as the character she'd created came to life, but it wasn't the character that captivated her. It was the man.

Ebony hair like raven's wings gleamed midnight blue under intense stage lights. Intelligent eyes blazed with passion so dark the midnight sky looked pale in comparison.

Lindsay watched transfixed as Sabrina snaked her arms around Jeff's shoulders. Her fingers played in the soft hair on the nape of his neck and she pulled his head inexorably down until his lips met hers in a kiss as light as an angel's breath.

That kiss hadn't been in the stage directions. Lindsay wished these temperamental actors would stop ad-libbing. She sucked in a deep breath and her fingernails bit into the soft flesh of her palms. Hypnotized, she couldn't look away.

Sabrina burrowed into the kiss, snuggling into the actor’s strong arms. If Lindsay hadn't known better she'd have sworn they were long lost lovers.

After an eternity, Jeff lifted his head and carried Sabrina to the bed on stage right. He lowered her ever so gently, then stretched beside her. His large frame dwarfed Sabrina when he lay atop her.

"Oh darling." Sabrina wriggled beneath him, positioning herself in eyebrow raising fashion. "I've missed you so much. I-I thought I would die without you."

"I’d fight Heaven and Earth to find you." Jeff smiled into her eyes, his lips a fraction from hers, his arm balancing his weight so he didn’t crush her. "Nothing could keep me from your side."

"Make love to me," Sabrina whispered against his lips, her words broken by desire. Her fingers played with the hair on the nape of his neck. She arched her supple body against his.

Jeff pulled away, his eyes black as soot. He cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I dream of nothing else. But...I can’t..."

Sabrina pulled herself out of his arms and sat up. She cradled bent knees to her chest and gazed at him accusingly. "Why not? Don’t you love me anymore? Am I not desirable?" Her voice shook as did her shoulders. She sniffed and a tear dropped to the crumpled bed.

"You’re more desirable than Aphrodite herself." Jeff sucked in a deep breath. "But, but..."

"But what?" Breathless, the actress could barely contain herself.

Lindsay watched with narrowed eyes, mixed emotions warring within her.

"Do you love another?"

"I love only you, forever and always." Jeff looked away. He slid a gold cigarette case out of his pocket and flicked it open in one fluid movement. Extracting a thin cheroot, he dangled it between his lips and put a gold lighter to its tip. He inhaled, then blew out a ring of smoke that shimmered in the spotlight.

"Then what?" Sabrina shifted around, posing on her knees, in perfect pouncing position. Long hair curtained her profile. "What’s so wrong?"

Jeff blew out a cloud of smoke and stared into the haze, the epitome of a troubled man.

"I’m impotent."

Sabrina sputtered and burst out laughing. She fell to her side and rolled on the bed, feet kicking in the air. Her long hair cocooned her slight frame.

Jeff quirked a black brow and looked down his patrician nose at her disdainfully. "Was it something I said?"

"Don’t worry, dahling." Sabrina pulled herself up next to him seductively, curling long fingers possessively around his arm. Her lips turned into a pretty pout. "Men never have that problem with me."

He sank slowly under the covers as if he were a ghost.

Lindsay groaned. "Another comedian? Why me, Lord?"

"It's funnier this way." Ken slapped his knee. A sunny grin spread over his face. "I like this guy. He's got a good sense of humor. He'll fit in with our bunch of maniacs perfectly."

"Isn't Elvis bad enough?" Lindsay wasn’t sure if she wanted to shake him or hug him for hiring Andrews. "And Troy? Don’t I deserve someone low maintenance? I’ve paid." And paid.

Ken leaned close and whispered. "The blue prints don’t call for low maintenance in this model."

Like that made her feel better. Not!

Jeff threw off the sheet and swung his legs off the bed. Drawing himself up to his full height, he held out a hand to Sabrina and helped her stand by his side.

The actress swayed as if dazed and smiled like the teenage Ann Margaret in Bye Bye Birdie. Stars glowed in her eyes. Every now and then, she burst out in fresh giggles.

Any minute, Lindsay was afraid the woman would go in to sugar shock. Lord deliver her!

Jeff turned to Ken and Lindsay, wearing the same smug expression that the serpent in the Garden of Eden must have worn after he'd seduced Eve. Lindsay’s flesh crawled. What conceit! Just like an actor. Sabrina's insult would have turned a normal male to dust.

Lindsay turned in her seat and glanced at Ken from beneath the veil of her long lashes. Rapt interest gleamed from his eyes so she needn't bother to ask his opinion. She might as well just hand him the standard contract and his favorite gold pen.

"Looks like we have our Slade Parish." As if she didn’t know that. "Good looking kid. He won't hurt our ratings."

"That’s an understatement," Lindsay said soto voce. The battle raged on inside her. How could she be happy they’d found Slade Parish, when her immortal soul was in jeopardy? Another actor! Why did her heart race and breathing quicken for another actor?

"You've got to admit the chemistry between them is dynamite."

"Explosive," Lindsay agreed dryly. She should feel happier….ecstatic. For the past six months, she had lived, slept and breathed Slade Parish, building him from one word on her computer screen into a stimulating, complex man. Watching Jeff just now had been like seeing her hero stroll out of the mists of creation at the dawn of time.

"I want to sign him." Ken turned to her in courtesy although she had no official input in his decision. Bruce didn’t care what she thought. "Agree?"

She nodded her head, for what it was worth. Wavy curls bounced around her cheeks and tickled her neck. "The ratings should skyrocket. Maybe we'll finally win that Emmy for best story line." She felt a bit cheered with that thought.

"That was a great audition. We'll messenger contracts to your agent this afternoon." Ken strode to the edge of the stage. He lifted his arm and shook Jeff's hand. The stage came just below Ken’s shoulders.

"Thanks." Jeff leaned over to shake hands. "I'll let him know."

"Come to my office bright and early Monday morning. Say, nine-ish?" Ken smiled, a midget staring up at a giant.

"I'll show you around now if you have time." Sabrina turned to Ken, raising her voice. "Is it okay if I give Jeff a tour of the studio?"

Ken nodded in agreement, rubbing his shiny head.

"I'd enjoy that." Jeff took Sabrina's arm and guided her to the edge of the stage, the perfect gentleman, moving with the grace of a panther. Lindsay wouldn't be surprised if he turned out to be a dancer as well as an actor. She made a mental note to keep that in mind for future reference for a story.

Images of Jeff twirling Sabrina on the dance floor as if they were Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers taunted her. Worse, she pictured him dirty dancing.

She shook herself to erase the tortuous images from her mind. The last thing she wanted to do was fantasize about an actor.

"My pleasure," Sabrina crooned, tilting her head back at an angle.

She had a decided lilt to her movements today. In contrast, Lindsay felt rather lethargic and gangly in her stone washed blue jeans and sweater.

Finally her long held dream was in reach, but it felt as empty as a sugar coated Easter egg--exquisite on the outside, hollow inside. Suddenly, the dream of winning the Emmy didn't seem to be enough.

"I owe you one," Lindsay whispered to Ken, sliding her pencil through her wiry spirals. She cradled her notebook to her chest. "Thanks for letting me sit in today." She put her hand on her friend's arm and lowered her voice. "You're a dear." She stood on her tiptoes and pecked his cheek with a feather light kiss. He needed a shave.

"I'm getting soft in my old age." Ken chuckled. He glanced at his watch and his eyes grew round. "Shoot! I'm late for a meeting. Bruce’ll crucify me." He dashed away through the back of the auditorium, disappearing into the blackness.

Lindsay pivoted on her heel and headed for her sanctuary. Her stomach grumbled, craving Chinese take-out. Someday, she’d have to kick her oyster sauce addiction. But not today. She needed something to settle her nerves.

She glanced down at her watch and grimaced. Wong Fu's lunch special would end in ten minutes. If she ran like the wind and if she groveled, she might get her order in under the wire.

Lights back stage glowed eerily, but Lindsay could see sufficiently to take this shortcut to her office and her E-mail, her lifeline to her Chinese craving. She squinted in the dark to make out the time on her watch, but darkness cloaked her. She was virtually blind.

Sprouting wings on her feet, she sped through the corridor. Shadows loomed ahead but Lindsay paid little attention. The camera crew had probably left their gear lying around in the hallway again.

Her toe tangled in a light cord stretched taut across the hallway, flinging her headlong. She let out a yelp of dismay before she could recall it. The fall happened in slow motion.

When she put her hands out to catch her fall, they collided with a hard body. Strong arms caught her, hauling her against a hard chest.

Lindsay gasped, wondering if she had stumbled onto the horror set next door by mistake. "This must be how Sigourney Weaver felt on the set of Aliens. Apprehensive and jumpy as hell," Lindsay muttered under her breath, not in stellar mood. She struggled to free herself from the warmth that threatened to suffocate her.

"Are you all right?" a deep voice soothed her. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"Our little Lindsay is good at making grand entrances." Sabrina stepped out of the shadows. She leaned her shoulder against the wall and flicked on the light switch. "The little wall flower will do anything for attention."

Floodlights bathed the narrow corridor, reminding Lindsay of a criminal interrogation. She squinted and looked at her savior cum captor whose hands lingered on her arms, whose warm breath fanned her cheeks. She should have known who imprisoned her the moment her mind flashed warning bells--- Jeffrey Andrews.

Electric sparks shot up her arms. Lindsay shook his hand off her arm and drew back, startled. She felt as if she'd been struck by lightning.

"What were you doing huddled in the dark? Rehearsing already?" She flipped her long mane behind her shoulders, glaring at the man. How dare he invade her personal boundaries.

"Snooping, Lindsay?" The tigress unsheathed sharp claws. Topaz eyes glowed in warning.

"I was going back to work." Lindsay’s gaze slid to Sabrina. "Taking a short cut." She darted a disapproving glance at the soap’s star. "Shouldn’t you be studying your lines or something?"

"I’m showing Jeffrey around the set." Sabrina sauntered to Jeff's side and slid her superbly manicured hands around his upper arm and tugged. Tilting her head, she batted her eyelashes and puckered her lips. "Come along darling. I have a lot more to show you."

To his credit, Jeff hesitated. He studied Lindsay intently then quirked an eyebrow. A shadow crossed his granite features. His body tensed beneath the finely cut lines of his suit.

"Are you sure you’re okay, Miss?" His lips cracked into a smile and her insides melted.

"Mzzz Jordan." Lindsay enunciated the z sound succinctly. She wanted to make sure this actor didn't overstep his limits, get too familiar with her. "And I’m sure."

"I’m pleased to meet you, Mzzz Jordan." Jeff chuckled, his warm voice washing over her even though his eyes danced with glee.

More than a little flustered but trying hard to conceal it, Lindsay looked away, pretending to be interested in something else. "You gave quite a performance. You must rehearse a lot."

"Ah yes. I remember. You were watching." He sounded quite pleased with himself. She imagined he could be equally dangerous. "O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyes," Jeff quoted from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer's Night Dream.

"What are you saying?" Sabrina tilted her head and looked askance at Jeff. Her brows puckered.

"He's quoting Shakespeare, 'Bree." Mentally, Lindsay rolled her eyes heavenward. Not another temperamental stage actor like Elvis? She didn't know if she could take the stress.

"Oh, of course. I see."

Clearly, the actress didn’t.

Lindsay tried to keep her expression neutral, which was hard with Sabrina. Who did Sabrina think she was kidding? She didn't recognize the quote.

Jeff claimed Lindsay’s small hand in his and lifted it to his lips. "Call me Jeff."

"You were watching the audition, weren’t you? Bruce won’t like that." Sabrina darted a lethal glare over her shoulder.

"Exactly how will Bruce find out?" Lindsay lifted her chin defiantly.

"The walls have ears." Sabrina leaned her head on Jeff’s shoulder.

"He won’t like it if he finds out you’re using back stage as Lover’s Lane." Lindsay faced the actress, refusing to back down. She’d backed down once and where had it landed her? Small hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

"Stop trying to play in the big girls’ leagues." Sabrina’s fingers curled over Jeff’s shoulder. French manicured nails sparkled under the lights. "You don’t have what it takes."

"I forgot to tell you, 'Bree. The role of Catwoman was already cast." Why did the woman get under her skin so? Why couldn’t she just turn and walk away? "You can stop lifting your tail for the tom cats. The audition's over."

"Come along, Jeff." Sabrina glared at Lindsay with pure hatred. "I think we were just insulted."

"The cameras aren’t rolling..." She was never like this….only with Sabrina. Ever since the Gary episode, they’d been mortal enemies and it looked as if the war might rage again. Even if Jeff wasn’t so handsome, if Sabrina had the slightest inkling Lindsay liked a man, she’d make it her personal mission to steal him away.

"I hope to see you again, Lindsay." Jeff smiled a heart-stopping smile.

Oh, you will. Lindsay didn’t know whether to be pleased or scared like any sane woman in her situation. She knew actors were her Achilles Heel.

"It’s Mzzz Jordan." Her Christian name sounded like honey on Jeff’s lips. Warmth flooded her veins, but it was dangerous to propagate these feelings. She raised her wall of aloofness higher.

"Mzzz Jordan," he corrected himself, mirth lighting his face. He kissed the hand he still held, his lips feather soft.

Chills chased up Lindsay’s spine, causing her to shiver uncontrollably.

*************************************************************

"Mother? You home?" Lindsay let the door slam behind her as she juggled three paper bags in her arms. She paused to let her eyes focus in the dimly lit room. Beverly kept the house as dark as a theater at full curtain.

"I’m in here, but do be quiet, Dear. I'm watching a Drew Roberts movie," Beverly Jordan called out from the direction of the den.

"I’ll put your groceries away and be there in a minute." Carefully, she picked her way around the clutter, mostly old movie memorabilia. Movie posters of Drew Roberts with his heroines of the sixties covered the walls. Drew with Ann Margaret. Drew with Sandra Dee. Drew with Annette Funicello. Drew with Shelly Fabrares. How well Lindsay knew them all. She'd watched them so often as a kid they felt like trusted baby-sitters.

"Don’t be too long. You’ll miss the best part."

Lindsay stuck her head around the corner and smiled when she spotted her mother curled up in her favorite chair, her eyes glued dreamily to her new color console.

"I’ll be right in." Drew Roberts' voice was crooning to whichever actress was leading him on a wild chase. Images of his double filled her mind. Jeff looked exactly like Drew Roberts. Maybe a little darker…more intense… and certainly warmer and more dangerous.

She glanced at her mother from under veiled lashes. Could Beverly be telepathic? How could she have this particular movie on right after Lindsay had met the spitting image of her idol?

Or was Lindsay dreaming?

Of course, her mother’s obsession with Drew Roberts never ended. Beverly watched his old movies night and day. Hence Lindsay came by her own Drew Roberts obsession honestly.

"Do you want the shrimp lo mein or the garlic chicken?" She had to raise her voice to be heard over the blare of the television. She stuck the cold food in the fridge, leaving everything else heaped on the counters to be put away later.

"Really Linds!"

"Something wrong with Chinese, Mother?" Lindsay poured the lo mein out of it’s white cardboard box. With her fork, she scooped out the shrimp trying to hide in the bottom. Spearing the last one, she put it in her mouth and closed her eyes in ecstasy. "That is sooooo good." Oyster sauce wafted to her nostrils and she sniffed appreciatively.

Who needed perfume when there was Chinese take-out around?

"Chinese carry-out again?" Beverly clucked her tongue loud enough for Lindsay to hear way out in the kitchen. "It’s loaded with MSG."

"This doesn’t have any MSG. Which one do you want?

"Give me the chicken. Hush. Let me watch the Drew Roberts movie." Strains of the opening theme drifted through the house. "The best part’s starting."

Lindsay dumped the white rice on a large platter, then heaped a generous portion of chicken chunks and Chinese vegetables on the top. She poured a cup of Beverly’s favorite instant tea into a china cup, balanced the plate on her arm and carried it to her mother.

"He’s so romantic." Beverly sighed, swooning. Stars shone in her eyes as she leaned her cheek on her hand.

Lindsay glanced at the television, a Christmas present to her mother two years ago. Drew Roberts swept Ann Margaret into his arms in faded color, but Lindsay saw a very different picture. Jeff Andrews swept Sabrina Katz into his arms in living Technicolor.

"Lindsay, did you hear me?"

"Hmm? Did you say something?" Lindsay tore her eyes from the screen, erasing the tortuous image. She didn’t want to think about Jeff and Sabrina together, didn’t want to envision those intensely passionate eyes.

"Don’t you think he’s dreamy?" Fingers of both hands curled around her china cup, Beverly took a sip of her tea. Her eyes never left the silver screen.

"I thought it was a rhetorical question." Lindsay chuckled. She pushed her unruly hair out of her eyes. "Next ask me if Brad Pitt is sexy."

"Don’t get snide with me, young lady." Beverly sliced a sharp glance her way.

"I wasn’t." Lindsay turned away. Getting her own apartment near the studio had been the best thing she’d ever done. She adored Beverly, but her mother drove her up a wall. She could only take her in small doses--like Castor Oil.

Lindsay walked back to the kitchen, took a cold diet soda out of the fridge, popped the tab and tipped it to her lips.

She grabbed her platter. Hands full, she pushed the swinging kitchen door open with her shoulder. She curled up in a overstuffed recliner next to her mother, Indian style, settling the platter on her crossed legs. She tilted the soda to her lips and took a long swig.

Drew Roberts swept Ann-Margaret into his arms and they gazed into each other's eyes. He lowered his lips to capture Ann's lips and Lindsay could feel the heat rolling off them in waves. Ever so gently, Drew lowered Ann onto his bed.

Lindsay's fork halted in mid-air. A succulent shrimp dangled over her plate.

The movie panned out, leaving the rest of the love scene to her vivid imagination. Lindsay replayed the image of Sabrina taunting Jeff in the bed at the casting call and she chuckled under her breath.

Spying the fortune cookies on the table next to her, Lindsay scooped them up.

"Do you want your fortune cookie?" Lindsay asked. When Beverly nodded, Lindsay tossed her a cookie underhand. She unwrapped the one she’d kept for herself and snapped it open. A little white wisp of paper fell on her knees. Curious, Lindsay picked it up. Lucky lottery numbers lined the backside, but she wasn’t interested in those so she turned it over. You have met the man of your dreams it pronounced. Lindsay stared at the fortune dumbfounded, then crumpled it in her fist.

"You will become rich and famous," Beverly read aloud. She laughed around a mouthful of rice. "What does yours say, Dear?"

There was no way Lindsay would repeat her fortune to this matchmaker from hell, innocently disguised as her eccentric, very ditzy mother.

Lindsay uncrumpled the offensive paper that she didn’t believe anyway and said, "You will be an old maid." Lindsay lifted her eyes to meet her mother’s gaze. "I guess I should start my own 401K and stop waiting for Mr. Right."

"It doesn’t say that!" Beverly accused. "Hand it over."

Lindsay considered eating the paper like a spy hiding government secrets. Instead, she folded the slip of paper in half and ripped it into teensy tiny shreds. Stuffing her hand into her jeans pocket, she hid the evidence. She really wasn't in the mood to go through another episode of why she hadn't made Beverly a grandmother yet.

After straightening her mother’s disorganized house, Lindsay kissed her mother on her heavily rouged cheek and bade her goodbye.

Feeling free as the wind, Lindsay hopped into her little red Lamborgini and sailed down the drive under the tree-lined canopy. Turning up her preferred oldies station, she sang along to one of her favorite tunes, uncaring that she was totally tone deaf. When she turned west, twilight greeted her on the horizon. Purplish-orange wisps of clouds swirled in the sky like a child’s spin art painting.

At the next intersection, Lindsay turned left and headed southwest on the highway. She pushed the accelerator to the floor and luxuriated in the power of her little car. Riotous curls whipped around her face and she laughed with carefree abandon. Night fell over the city and lights blinked on like fireflies. Lindsay loved this time of day, when it wasn’t really day and it wasn’t really night but somewhere in between when the angels painted watercolors in the sky.

***********************************************************

Jeff entered the cool studio and let the air-conditioning wash over him bright and early Monday morning. It felt great to be back on a set. Even a few days’ absence from his natural habitat stretched like eons.

He took the liberty of exploring the studio on his own. Darkness shrouded most of the sets. Only a few early birds passed him, sending him cursory glances but refrained from speaking. And he'd thought New Yorkers were cold!

A light peeping at him from the opposite end of the hall attracted Jeff’s attention like a moth to a flame. He followed the beacon as if it were the yellow brick road. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked as quietly as an Indian scout.

When he drew nearer the light, Jeff spied a slender figure bent over a desk in front of a computer terminal. Rich mahogany curls rioted about the woman, covering her face and shoulders. Light danced off the unrestrained curls. His fingers longed to twist the curling ends around them like a ring and he found himself wanting to bury his face in the long tresses.

Leaning back against the wall, one foot flat against it, he observed her. She looked so soft and vulnerable working alone. The tension in the shoulders hunched together gave away her total concentration on her task. Earphones covered her ears, but Jeff slipped into the shadows lest she catch his movement in the corner of her eye.

She reached up and tugged one earphone off, then swiveled in her chair and peered into the darkness. Her eyes narrowed and she looked about her like a skittish deer before returning her attention to the screen in front of her.

Jeff could see her face clearly now. Mzzz Lindsay Jordan, the young screenwriter who had snapped at him for saving her from a nasty fall.

His lips curved upward in a slow smile. How could such an exquisite creature be so sassy? Why did she settle for being behind the scenes instead of being in front of the camera? She might pretend to be an ice princess, but no one could write such hot and steamy love scenes and not sizzle.

And why would she compose a story line so similar to his father’s famous role as Dack Drake, super sleuth, world savior and the ultimate ladies man?

No time like the present to catch Mzzz Jordan off-guard he decided. He just might need the element of surprise to get to the truth about the script, to break down her wall of ice.

Straightening to his full height, Jeff pushed away from the wall and moved into the light. He sauntered to Lindsay’s office and leaned against the doorjamb, drinking in her ethereal beauty.

Her full lips bowed enchantingly. Two tiny freckles to the right of her mouth extended her smile when she dimpled. Her nose was almost perfect except it sloped a little too much on its bridge, but it was her wide emerald eyes, framed by the longest, sootiest eyelashes he'd ever seen that made her a true beauty.

Primitive urges surged through him like a lightning bolt. A wisp of lilac and honeysuckle tickled his nose and he sniffed appreciatively.

After a few minutes of waiting to see if she would notice him, he walked to the back of her chair. Leaning over her so close that his lips drifted within kissing distance of her hair he murmured into her ear, "Such dedication for one so young. That must be some script."

Lindsay jumped, pushing her chair into him. She tore the earphone off her ears and let them slip to the floor.

Jeff caught her toppling chair, his fingers grazing hers. Lightning leapt between them and Lindsay jerked away from him as if she’d been scorched.

"Weren’t you taught to knock before entering an office? Or that it’s not polite to sneak up on people?" Wide eyes the shade of emeralds sparkling in the sunlight regarded him dubiously and not without a trace of mockery.

"I knocked," Jeff lied.

"No you didn’t." A rosy blush crept into her high cheekbones, illuminating her fine boned face. She struggled to her feet and Jeff grasped her hand, hauling her up.

"You wouldn’t have heard me if I had. Not with those on."

"You’ve got me there." She turned the CD player off then bent down to retrieve her headset, winding the cord around it and tucking it into her desk drawer. "I presume you have a reason for being here?" She quirked a finely arched eyebrow.

So much for catching Lindsay unaware. Blunt questions weren’t his style anyway. He preferred much subtler methods of questioning.

But her scent made it hard to concentrate on trivialities. Flashing eyes challenged his masculine ego. Her chest strained against a sweater so tight it looked like it would explode any second. His fingers itched to open it before that could happen.

"Have lunch with me today?" His voice came out low and husky. He smiled his smile that ordinarily melted women of all ages, one which he’d had a lot of practice performing.

Her eyes snapped. "I’m afraid I’ll be tied up all day with the new script."

"Take pity on me." He perched on the edge of her desk and swung his right leg leisurely. "I haven’t met anyone else yet." He reached out to touch her glorious hair. Taking a handful, he lifted it to his face. "Your hair smells like lilacs."

"This is the first day of shooting." She closed her eyes and it reverted into an expressionless mask. She might look like an ice princess, but she smelled like a wood nymph.

"Surely you have to eat sometime?" He slid off the edge of the desk. Closing the distance between them, he put a hand on the wall, trapping her between himself and her computer. "I saw a cute little Italian restaurant down the road." He leaned closer.

Her eyes widened and she shot him a smug glance that delivered a blow to his solar plexus. "I’m afraid you don’t understand, Mr. Andrews. I’m not the local Welcome Wagon. I’m sure Sabrina would love to join you for lunch. She’s the one with which you became so intimately acquainted."

"I was acting. Slade kissed Saffron."

"Congratulations! You’re the best darn actor I’ve ever seen," she chuckled wryly. She ducked beneath his outstretched arm and crossed the room to safety. "Ken will be extremely glad he selected you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Andrews, I have to fix your script before you can get to work making the women of America swoon." She stood at her door like a sentry. Her hair fell to the middle of her back and her blue jeans gloved her curvaceous bottom.

Jeff couldn’t resist Lindsay’s challenge. Women falling all over him had begun to bore him a couple of years ago. He longed for a really good challenge. He grinned his devil-may-care smile and sauntered to her side. Instead of passing her by, he paused, towering over her. "We’ll talk later Lindsay."

"That’s Mzzz Jordan to you." Her chin jutted out in defiance. Her shoulders squared and she held her head high.

He cuffed her gently on the chin with his fist. "Here’s looking at you Kid," he whispered then strode into the hall.

His stomach grumbled and he followed his nose to the chuck wagon. Cardboard sausage, congealed eggs, toast as stiff as bisque ware lay on display for the truly ravenous. A rosy red apple caught his eye. That looked safe enough. So did the wrapped breakfast pastry.

Jeff dug in his pocket for loose change. He dragged out a small fortune in quarters that he handed over to the indifferent vendor.

Whistling cheerfully, he strode back to Lindsay’s office and dumped the food and two juices on top of her desk.

She didn’t notice him again. If that wasn’t being absorbed in one’s work, nothing was. Or those earphones might be completely soundproof.

He hopped on her desk, stretched over it and tapped her on her shoulder. His elbow almost knocked her philodendron to the floor. He saved it just as it slid off the edge and pushed it to the middle of her desk.

She jumped a mile out of her seat and clutched her throat. She tore the earphones off her head and the wire came unplugged from the speakers. Sultry sax filled the office. She regarded him like she would a rattlesnake, accusingly. "Don’t ever do that again!"

"I come bearing gifts." Maybe she’d speak to him if he tempted her with gifts. He waved the pastry under her nose like fine perfume.

"Like the Trojan Horse?" She turned her face full toward him, favoring him with a scowl….not exactly the greeting he’d hoped for.

"It’s just a bite of breakfast from the Roach Coach." He swung his legs over the desk and let them dangle to the floor.

"Well, when you put it so deliciously, I have to refuse." She smiled curtly and tucked her hair behind her ears. What glorious, silky hair. The way it framed her heart-shaped face, the way it waved softly down her back in gentle curls, did things to him, especially when she walked and the ends just grazed the small of her back, accentuating a well-defined bottom.

"What’s the harm in one little apple?" He picked it up and polished it in his hands like Snow White’s wicked stepmother and held it out to her.

"Perhaps you should ask Adam that question." She shook her head, then rocked back in her chair and put her foot on her desk. She pushed herself back to the wall. "One little apple got him kicked out of Paradise."

"Are you normally so suspicious?" He was enjoying every minute of this exchange.

She shrugged her slim shoulders and veiled her eyes. Those incredibly long, black eyelashes formed lacy fans on her cheeks and he wanted to touch one with the tip of his finger to see if it was an illusion.

"Me? Have ulterior motives? This is the time I usually eat breakfast. You’re here early so I thought you might be hungry, too. Pick your choice."

"I’d better have the apple." She eyed him suspiciously but held out her hand palm toward the ceiling. He spied a silver picture frame placed strategically on her desk next to a philodendron and wondered who the man in the photo might be. Handsome bloke. Twinges of jealousy shot through him that he immediately clamped down on. He had no right to be jealous.

"See? I can tempt you." He smiled mischievously and dropped the apple on her hand.

She closed her fingers over it and carried it to her mouth. Even white teeth bit into it and Jeff watched, wishing she were nipping parts of him.

When he unwrapped the pastry and bit into it, icing dribbled down his chin.

Lindsay burst out laughing. Apple spluttered out of her mouth and she clamped her hand over her lips. Crimson flushed her cheeks. She lowered thick lashes, fanning crescents against high cheekbones.

"Is something wrong?" Jeff asked. "I don’t normally have this effect on women."

"You have icing on your chin." She cracked a smile in spite of her intentions. Her chin dimpled and the two freckles stood out against her alabaster skin like beauty marks.

"Where?" Jeff rubbed his chin but kept missing the mark.

"You’re not getting it." She chuckled. "A little lower," she directed. "No. To your left."

"Can you help me?" He missed his mark, deliberately obtuse.

She put her hands on the chair’s armrests and pushed herself up.

He leaned closer to her.

"It’s right here." She paused and wiped her finger down his jaw. The icing clung to her finger.

He grabbed her wrist and dragged it to his mouth, sucking on it. Her small hand trembled in his. It fit so perfectly, as if it was meant to be there always.

Her eyes grew wide and dark as the forest, but she didn’t move away. He feared she would bolt any moment.

He put his hand in the small of her back and dragged her closer. Lowering his lips to hers, he dropped an angel light kiss on her too-tempting lips.

"Uhm hmm." Someone cleared their throat from the doorway. When Jeff dragged his lips away from the ambrosia he’d barely tasted, his gaze clashed with that of his new boss. Ken’s expression was stormy, his eyes dark as thunder clouds.

"It’s past nine. We have things to discuss." The large man spun on his heel and strode down the hall.

Lindsay retreated from his embrace, putting a safe distance between them, her expression inscrutable.

CHAPTER TWO

"Welcome to the cast. Troy Young." The young blond haired man clasped Jeff’s hand with a limp grip. "I play Lucius, your resident villain." He leaned towards Jeff and lowered his voice. "Our little Miz Jordan thought it would be funny to name me after Lucifer."

His ears perked at the cynical mention of Lindsay. It didn’t set well with him, but he kept his own counsel.

"That's Elvis Phillips." Troy lifted his hand and pointed to an old actor. "He used to play off Broadway. He thinks he's MacBeth and Dick Clark all rolled into one. He tries to tongue all the women." Troy chuckled. "They avoid him like the plague." He watched him for a moment. "Ahhh. See, there he goes with his mouth spray."

"And that's Jasmyn Rose." Troy pointed to a young blonde actress with curly bobbed hair and a flat chest. "She's a pretty sweet kid--so far. I don't give her much odds around this motley crew," he muttered.

"There's Henri Dubuque," Troy nodded his head at a middle aged man. "He's a-a...well, you'll find out about Henri soon enough," Troy whispered.

"You've met Queen Sabrina." Troy laughed. "She roosts over all of us peons."

Pointing out various other cast members, Troy elaborated on each one in turn. Troy obviously held the position of cast gossip, although he didn't say much about himself.

But other than Troy’s cryptic remark, he hadn’t elaborated on the one person in whom Jeff felt the most interest--- Lindsay Jordan.

"Tell me about Lindsay Jordan." Jeff turned his back on the rest of the cast so no one could hear him.

"The writer?" Troy asked, surprised. His eyes widened and a slow grin split his California sun kissed face.

"Yeah." Jeff peered at him. "The writer."

"She’s very-- cool," Troy said, tapping his finger to his lips. "I don’t mean cool like groovy, but I mean like an ice freezer. She hates actors. But I guess you can’t totally blame her. After all..." Troy paused, a hesitant expression flitting across his face as if he’d had second thoughts about divulging confidential information.

"What do you mean?" Jeff slid a gold case out of his pocket and flipped it open with one hand. Expensive cheroots lay inside the box lined up like sardines. "Want one?" Jeff offered, holding out the case.

"No thanks, man." Troy waved his hand and shook his head. "I'm working out for a dance movie audition."

Jeff extracted a thin white stick, put it between his lips and flicked a gold lighter on. The flame flickered like an exotic dancer and Jeff lowered the cheroot into it. He snapped the case shut and slid it back into his pocket.

Narrowing his eyes, he regarded Troy through a haze of smoke.

"Her ex-fiancé was our leading man. Gary Alexander." Troy leaned against the wall behind him. "Have you ever seen him?"

"Sure I have." The image of the blond actor flitted before Jeff’s eyes. "He stars in the movie of the week."

"He jilted her for Sabrina and left her standing at the altar. The National Invader plastered Lindsay all over the cover for weeks."

"That’s a hard knock." Had this left her scarred?

"Her mama thinks she’s Marlena Dietrich." Troy’s eyes darted back and forth to make sure no one overheard. He put his finger near his ear and circled it. "She’s loony if you know what I mean. She comes in here wearing plumes and brandishing cigarette holders. You’d think she raided a 1930's prop room." Troy laughed. "Maybe it’s in the genes."

"The mother sounds like quite a character." He couldn’t picture Lindsay that way and wondered how she could come from such lineage.

"Beverly Jordan could be called eccentric. Like Nora Desmond." The actor raked a hand through his blond hair.

"What about Lindsay?" So far, he knew more about her mother than about Lindsay herself.

"Lindsay's a real workaholic and pretty eccentric in her own way." Troy chuckled. "She has a white Persian called Brutus. She lives alone with him and hasn’t dated anyone we know of since Gary dumped her."

"It sounds like she has a good sense of humor." Jeff grinned. He thought about his own crazy parrot, King Lear.

"If you can call it that. I’m named for the Lord of Darkness. And that’s mild." Troy snorted.

"What else has she done?" Jeff started to glean a fraction of insight into what made Lindsay tick.

"Don’t get caught in the middle of Lindsay and Sabrina. They loathe each other. It’s like one giant cat fight." Troy whistled, long and low and looked a little green around his gills. "Take my word for it. You don't want to go there."

"Didn’t Sabrina marry this fellow Gary ?" Jeff asked, perplexed. Puzzle pieces seemed to be missing.

"Na. That’s the weird part. He dumped Sabrina a month later for his new leading lady." Inching closer and lowering his voice another notch, Troy confided in Jeff. "We have an initiation of sorts for all new cast members."

"What sort of initiation?" Jeff narrowed his eyes and blew a puff of smoke in Troy’s face. He didn’t much like this guy--- No backbone--- And he talked too much.

"Everyone has to ask our Miz Jordan for a date. Whoever persuades her to go out first, wins the pool."

"Has everybody gone along with this?" Disgusted that Lindsay, or anyone, should be subjected to such treatment, Jeff couldn’t believe his ears.

"So far." Troy nodded his head. "Are you in?"

Pursing his lips together, Jeff shook his head. "She already turned me down for a lunch date. I guess that disqualifies me." No wonder she’d turned him down. If she had wind of this childish contest, she’d avoid all the cast members like the plague. That made his mission to win her confidence and find out why the story line she'd written was so like his father's movie, twenty times more difficult. But the challenge became even more alluring. The ante had just been raised.

"She’s batting one thousand percent. Say, if she changes her mind, you can still win," Troy said, shooting a conspiratorial grin at him. "By the way, she loves Chinese food. There’s a good little restaurant just around the corner. She and Ken lunch there all the time." Troy pivoted on his heel and made a grand exit.

Troy paused and turned. He exhaled deeply and retraced his steps. "Oh, and take a word of warning from one who knows too well," he said cryptically. "Don’t anger Miz Jordan. You’ll be sorry."

***********************************************************

"Sabrina. Jeff. I want you on the set in two minutes. Prepare for the apartment scene."

The studio vibrated with the sound of thunder as cameras rolled to the second set. Lindsay stepped back so she wouldn’t be crushed in the pilgrimage.

Glancing at Jeff from beneath veiled eyes, Lindsay cracked a grin. A big bosomed Dutch lady make-up artist was powering Jeff’s nose with rice powder. "You's going to look sooo handsome, liepschien." The woman bustled around Jeff as if he was a little baby. She pinched his cheek and winked at him. "I was the best make-up artist in the East."

Jeff looked pained, but grinned woodenly. He resembled a china doll, but she didn’t think he’d like knowing that. A chuckle rose in Lindsay’s throat. She wasn’t about to tell him.

He looked up suddenly and caught her staring at him. His gaze clashed with hers, daring her to crack a smile or utter a word. A wry smile twisted his lips and he shifted in his chair.

Elvis Phillips, the senior member of the cast was sitting beside Jeff, his right leg over his left knee. His head gleamed naked as a cue ball. False teeth large enough to fit a horse were soaking in a clear glass on the make-up artist's tray near his elbow.

The woman spun Elvis around in his seat so that he was facing Lindsay and she sputtered, nearly choking on the hot coffee she had just sipped. Sliced lemons covered his eyes. His lips were puckered like a dried apple and he looked like a homemade alien in a backyard theater.

"Did you put foundation over my wrinkles young lady?" Elvis’s voice boomed like a Shakespearean actor. He popped the lemons off his eyes and leaned forward in his chair, squinting at the mirror. " I can’t look a day over 35. I just positively can't." He sounded like MacBeth in a Shakespearean play.

"Yes Mr. Phillips," his young make-up artist answered. The girl could barely be out of high school and she kept sliding sideways glances at Jeff. She plastered foundation that looked like heavy clown’s make-up over Elvis’ wrinkles that covered just about his entire face. Then she took a shoe polish black toupee off a mannequin's head. "When I’m done with you, you’ll look younger than Dick Clark."

Lindsay grimaced and covered her mouth to hide a chuckle. Hadn't anybody told her how ancient America's eternal teenager looked nowadays? Her body racked with silent laughter. Coffee sloshed dangerously near the edge of her mug.

The young woman stepped around the red beautician’s chair, toupee in hand and fitted the skullcap to Elvis’ cue ball head. She painted clear drying glue over the rim so it would look natural. When she grabbed the clown’s make-up and scooped out a glob, Elvis reeled.

"I have enough make-up on to keep Avon in business for a century!" Elvis bellowed, waving his arms in a temper tantrum. "I don’t want any more Plaster of Paris on my face. I don’t..."

"Please calm down, Mr. Phillips. I have to paste this on so your hair won't slip."

His flailing arms crashed into the glass holding his dentures. Teeth sailed high through the air like a baseball. The glass shattered on the floor. Water fissured out, soaking him and Jeff.

Drops of water ran down Jeff's face. He resembled a furious mime. He jumped to his feet, tearing the soaking wet white sheet off, flinging it behind him. It landed over Elvis' make-up girl's head like a ghost.

"Did someone turn off the lights?" the girl cried out, her hands held out in front of her, feeling her way around like a blind man. She bumped into the big bosomed Dutch lady who had applied Jeff's make-up and spread her hands over the woman, squeezing a breast the size of a cantaloupe.

"Get your hands off me!" the woman screamed in her thick accent. Her face turned red as a tomato and her cheeks puffed out as if she would explode. "I’ve never been so insulted." She pushed the poor girl to the floor.

Water gushed under the Dutch lady’s feet at that precise moment, taking her feet for the ride of her life. She landed on a derriere that would make double Lindsay's, somersaulting head over feet, careening into the make-up station like a Russian gymnast. Her old lady skirt flew up around her face exposing a hot purple G-string lined with sequins. She kicked a two-gallon jug of water which flew into the air, drenching everyone in a twenty foot radius.

"My teeth!" Make-up poured down Elvis’s face as if his skin was melting.

The make-up station teetered like a Sunday morning drunk. The make-up girl pulled the sheet off her head just as pots of make-up teetered and fell. An open pot flipped, dumping white cream over the girl's head.

"The sky is falling!" The girl crawled away from danger on all fours just as the stand toppled to the floor. "It's the end of the world!"

"My teeth!" Elvis leapt in the air like a football receiver with his hand held high. His shirt ripped, revealing a woman’s girdle with long iron stays around his thick waist. "Rescue my teeth!" The girdle popped off, flinging across the room like a slingshot. It hit a cameraman who had his back to the commotion.

"What the hell?" the burly cameraman shouted and spun on the ball of his foot. He decked Troy, who was standing next to him, starting a barroom brawl.

Troy fell straight back onto a delicate looking young actress. She struck out like Bruce Lee, kicking the cameraman, knocking him out cold. Troy crumpled to the floor like yesterday's laundry. For good measure, she felled his cameraman buddy, who had raced across the room to help him.

Lindsay cradled her head in her hand, Excedrin headache number 46 forming in her temples. She couldn't watch anymore. This couldn't be happening. "This is like a bad Laurel and Hardy movie," she muttered under her breath in awe. If she had screamed, no one would have heard her over the deafening roar. A heavy metal rock concert couldn't possibly be so loud.

She made a mew when Elvis slipped on the river of water and fell on his back. Twisting, he half crawled, half scooted on his belly toward his teeth, that flowed downstream in the newly formed river.

Jeff sprinted after the disembodied teeth, swan diving over Elvis when he fell in his path.

Chattering teeth raced away as if they had sprouted spiders' legs and Lindsay lifted her legs in the nick of time.

"There's a rat chasing me!" Jasmyn put her hands to her throat and leaped on Ken's vacant director's chair next to Lindsay. It folded with her sudden weight and she sprawled to the floor next to Elvis. Her falsies slipped out the top of her blouse and sped down the river. She grabbed her chest and started crying.

Lindsay rolled her eyes, watching Elvis's black toupee float downstream. The darn thing certainly resembled a big hairy rat. She bent and held her hand out to the poor actress. "Are you okay?" Lindsay pulled her to her feet.

Cameras and lights crashed to the floor in the melee. Sparks flew like a Fourth of July celebration. People were slipping and sliding, splishing and splashing.

"Hit the fuse box." From the middle of the chaos, Ken was flailing his arms, directing. "Turn off the power before someone’s electrocuted."

Total darkness enveloped the studio like a solar eclipse. The shouting stopped as suddenly as if someone had turned off a stereo.

"My teeth!" Elvis cried. "Don’t let them get away! None of the ladies will kiss me without my teeth."

So far, Lindsay had managed to stay out of the brawl, clinging tightly to her chair like a life preserver. She watched like a moviegoer, fascinated, but not involved. She thanked her lucky stars for small miracles.

Then the earth opened up beneath her. A large body slid into her chair, knocking it off its legs. Lindsay toppled unceremoniously to the floor, landing on a soft cushion. Her cold coffee flipped in the air and showered her like a fountain. The sticky liquid plastered her hair to her scalp and her face and she felt as if she were Cousin It from the Adam's family. Reaching up, she divided her heavy curtain of hair and sputtered.

Strong arms encircled her and she struggled to free herself.

"Who are you?" she hissed. "Gomez?" She pried at the strong fingers that refused to budge.

"Morticia?" Jeff drawled in her ear. His breath tickled her sensitive lobe. "Guess who?" Jeff chuckled. His arms tightened around her waist. "Is this how you ad-lib around here?"

"Welcome to the show," she gritted out through clenched teeth.

************************************************************

Ken employed emergency cleaning crews to put the set in order for afternoon shooting. They took one look at the disaster area and demanded triple pay. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Ken had to fork over gold. Lindsay had never heard him grumble so much in his life. She didn't think he even knew how to grumble but today's disaster had given him a crash course.

While the custodial crew performed miracles, the entire cast and crew stood in line for the showers like ghostly army recruits, wet and miserable, at least half of them black and blue.

Lindsay shivered, hopping from one foot to the other to keep warm. When a chill chased through her body, she crossed her arms under her bosom. Her nipples stood out from the cold and she felt like a Viking warrior princess wearing pointy steel cones. She must have worn an evil expression, for everybody gave her wide berth.

"Listen up people!" Ken stood with his hands behind his back, his feet at parade rest like an army drill Sergeant. His polo shirt displayed hideous coffee stains down the front as if he'd lost control of his bodily functions. "The only extra clothing available comes from wardrobe."

Everyone moaned in unison and Lindsay thought the crowd would mutiny--if one could mutiny from a daytime drama.

Lindsay quirked a brow at her friend, who promptly scowled at her. She shrugged her shoulders and spread her hands out before her to gesture. "Oh well."

"Roll it on in, Mildred," Ken called.

The old wardrobe lady, wearing glasses held on her neck by a long silver chain and a flowered pincushion on her wrist, pushed in a wardrobe rack. She had the only completely dry hair in the room and it was short and layered, in a nondescript color--somewhere between dishwater blonde and sandy brown.

"You've got to be kidding?" Lindsay eyed low cut dresses full of plumes and sequins and strange looking costumes that looked like cartoon caricatures. The alternatives looked like refuges from Disneyland's animated characters.

"We can't wear that stuff!" Sabrina backed away from the wardrobe lady, her hands crossed across her chest.

Lindsay looked at her from beneath veiled lashes and suppressed a grin. The actress was worse for wear than she was--- if that was humanly possible. Her hair lay completely plastered to her skull and multi-colored feathers clung to it. She looked like she'd been tarred and feathered--which might not be such a bad idea.

"What happened to the regular wardrobe for everyday scenes?" Troy’s voice was shaky. He had quite a shiner where the cameraman had punched him. "I'm about to die of pneumonia." He turned accusing eyes on Elvis. "It's all your fault old man."

A loud consensus went up from the crowd and Lindsay thought a lynch mob might form.

"The regular wardrobe rack got soaked by the water," Ken gritted through clenched teeth. His eyes shot daggers at Elvis.

Elvis pursed his lips and lifted his chin defiantly. "The wardrobe shouldn't have been on the set," he said in clipped tones, imitating an English Lord's accent. "I'm not responsible."

When the crowd started to circle around Elvis, Ken stepped in. "Break it up you clowns. Get your showers, find something that fits you and get back to work. Secrets is springing for lunch. Give Verdi your deli orders."

Ken's executive assistant, Verdi, appeared from the shadows. She flipped open a steno pad and uncapped a blue ink pen. "I'll take your orders now," she said, her voice low and sweet.

The fickle crowd pushed in on her. Lindsay presumed a deli sandwich beat a lynching any day. Especially a free deli sandwich from the boss.

"One at a time!" Ken bellowed. "Single file. Move it. Move it. Move it!" He had to have been a drill Sergeant, he played the part so perfectly.

Lindsay slipped away to take a shower while everybody else was huddled around Verdi. She couldn't stand this sticky coffee in her hair one more minute.

She walked toward the stall fully clothed, intending to strip in privacy. She flung her fluffy white towel over the top of the stall.

"Ouch!" a male voice yelled.

She recognized the sexy voice as Jeff's and backed away. Then she realized her towel remained behind. She leaned forward and tried to snatch it away but Jeff tugged from the other end, flipping it out of her hands.

She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled in exasperation, "Give the towel back!"

"Come get it and it's yours." Jeff chuckled.

"Great," Lindsay mumbled under her breath. "Just give the towel back, Andrews. I'm cold and wet and not in any mood to play games with you."

"I can warm you up." He stuck his head around the corner of the shower stall and smiled lasciviously at Lindsay. Thick, ebony hair curled profusely on his bare chest.

"Give me the towel," she demanded, standing firm. She started to shiver but not entirely from the cold. The entire cast would probably come down with pneumonia.

"Come closer," he drawled. "You can trust me..." he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "I'm an excellent warmer upper. And I give great massages."

That did it! "You're incorrigible! I'll get another towel," she mumbled, stalking off in a huff.

"Some people can't take a joke," he said and turned on his shower full blast.

Finally, Lindsay stood under the pulsating shower, steamy water washing off the sticky coffee and denture water. She soaped herself all over until a thick lather formed, then rinsed off, finishing with her hair. She grimaced when she realized she'd have to wash her silky tresses with soap, but it was the best of the evils.

She turned off the water, rubbed her hair as dry as she could manage, then wrapped the towel around herself. She didn't particularly care to parade in front of this crowd in a towel, but what other choice did she have? They all had to do it or stay in here and catch their deaths of cold.

She stepped out of the shower, clutching the towel like a lifeline.

She couldn't stand wet panties so she stood for what seemed forever holding them under the blow dryer until they were warm and fluffy. She ducked into an empty stall and slipped into them.

When she came out of the stall, her gaze darted back and forth and she hoped she could get to the wardrobe rack without too many eyes upon her.

Jeff was lounging one shoulder insolently against the wall, his long legs stretched out. The right corner of his mouth quirked up when his gaze clashed with Lindsay's. He wore beat up, nondescript brown trousers and shirt.

"Who are you supposed to be?" she asked. "A hobo?"

"Indiana Jones at your service ma'am," he drawled. He whipped a dented brown hat from behind his back and bowed almost double. Then he crammed the hat over his springy black hair and pulled it over his eyes insolently. "It was either this or a French maitre 'd in my size."

Lindsay chuckled despite herself and backed away from him toward the wardrobe.

"You'd better get over there fast. There's not much of a selection," he said, smiling. His eyes traveled from the V of her breasts to the tips of her pink polished toes.

Heat crept up her neck and she averted her gaze. She pointed at the wardrobe rack. "I-I'd better get over there then."

Jeff laughed heartily, his gaze lingering on the generous cleavage peeking out above her towel.

Lindsay thumbed through the rack. She had the choice of looking like Little Bo Peep, Zsa Zsa Gabor or a sexy French maid. "Why do we have a Little Bo Peep outfit?" Lindsay asked Ken, who was standing at the end of the rack like a sentry.

"For our annual Halloween costume party show," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "So, what's your preference my lady? Scarlet O'Hara? Princess Leia? Marilyn Monroe?"

Lindsay eyed the outfits distastefully. "I never liked dress up. That's why I'm not an actress," she murmured.

"You can't go to work in a towel," Ken said. "You choose or I will." Green eyes didn’t waver. He was daring her.

"Give me the evening gown." She took the blue sequined evening gown off the rack and held it against her, eyeing it dubiously.

Sequins. She grimaced. This could come straight from her mother's Embarrass Lindsay line of fashion. Still, it beat Little Bo Peep hands down.

Draping the gown over her arm, she stalked off to the dressing room and slid it over her head.

Slinky wasn't even the word for this dress. It sheathed her slight form so tightly she had to walk like a bimbo. The neckline dipped so low it almost revealed her belly button and a mile of cleavage.

Turning this way and that, she examined herself in the mirror. The dress clung so tight, she could only take teensy steps, like Chinese royalty whose feet had been bound since infancy making it so they could barely walk.

One by one they came out of the shower and dumped wet, filthy clothes into a huge laundry hamper.

Lindsay draped a feather stole around her neck to hide her assets from prying male eyes. Spying the matching spiked heels on the bottom of the rack, she coaxed her feet into them. "In for a penny, in for a pound," she muttered and wondered if it was a truly good idea when she tried to balance on the kick ass heels.

She laughed aloud when she spied Sabrina dressed up as Little Bo Peep with a bad attitude. Troy was wearing the cape and tuxedo of Count Dracula and tried to bite Jasmyn's neck. Elvis was Elvis--in a white sequined jump suit with Elvis lit on the back with tiny light bulbs. Someone had stepped on his dentures, fracturing them. Ken had shown them to Lindsay and they had reminded her of a desert cow skull. With his puckered lips and bald head, Lindsay wondered if his namesake would have looked like this by now without make-up.

On her way back to her office, she passed a man in a mouse suit, another in a dragon suit whistling Puff the Magic Dragon and a middle aged woman dressed as Elvira with a hairy rubber tarantula sewn to her shoulder. If it was possible, this woman showed more cleavage than Lindsay had before she draped the feathers around her neck.

Lindsay rolled her eyes heavenward. "What next?" she mumbled, blowing the feathers away from her face.

************************************************************

Only the cast scheduled for the afternoon shoot got decent dry clothes back. Lindsay had to attend the shoot as Zsa Zsa.

Ken waltzed in as Rhett Butler. The lead cameraman was wearing a Star Trek uniform borrowed from the set at the other end of the studio lot. He even wore Vulcan ears and quirked his eyebrow a lot. He refused to smile, even when Sabrina made funny faces at him.

It looked like the cast had decided to have fun with their costumes and have a party.

Lindsay spied Jeff standing under the floodlights on set number two, his hands deep in his pockets. He watched the action around him as if detached. A long shadow loomed before him in the dim house.

The mouse tiptoed past, Lindsay stopping only long enough to tickle her chin with his tail. He tugged at her feather stole, cajoling her to give it up.

Lindsay shook her head and smiled, refusing to let him have it. For a moment, she thought they'd play tug of war.

Sabrina flounced to Jeff's side, a perky smile on her lips. She tossed her glorious hair and it swirled around her incredibly tiny waist. She said something to Jeff that made him laugh and Lindsay felt a stab of jealousy. She lowered her eyes but that was no good. Their silhouettes on the floor looked cozier than the live people.

Cameramen set up lights and equipment. Wires were pulled off stage. The set designer straightened a doily on the back of a plush love seat and the Dutch make up woman dabbed a smudge of mascara off Sabrina’s cheek. Lindsay wondered if the woman was still wearing her purple G-string and chuckled.

"Jeff? Bree? Are you ready?" Ken called when everybody moved off the set except the actors. He stretched to his full height and twirled his fake mustache like Simon La Greed.

Jeff nodded his head. His eyes narrowed.

"Anytime." Sabrina clamped her hands on her hips.

"Get in position," Ken called.

Jeff and Sabrina posed appropriately.

Lindsay took a chair next to Ken. She curled her legs under her chair and leaned sideways in her canvas director's chair. Eyes fixed on the set, she twirled one of her gold hoop earrings through her earlobe.

"And let there be light!" Ken commanded and lights flooded the stage. "Ready." Ken started his familiar chant. "Set. Action!"

Elvis sauntered onto the set, looking dashing and debonair. He held a book by Keating under his arm and lowered himself into his leather study chair.

Sabrina peeked around the door and let her eyes rest on Elvis. "Daddy," she mumbled. "I need to speak to you." She walked to Elvis' side and laid a well-manicured hand on his shoulder.

Elvis glanced up from his reading. "What is it daughter?" he asked.

"I have the most wonderful news," she whispered, her eyes wide and numb.

Elvis rose to his feet and squared his shoulders. "What is it Saffron?" he asked. "Why do you look so terrible if it's good news?"

"I hardly believe it," she murmured. "But Sl..."

"I'm alive." Slade barged in the door. "Your plan to kill me didn't work, Percy. As you see, I'm alive and well and back to marry your eldest daughter."

Elvis clutched his throat. "But you're dead. Lucius saw you die. He swore to me..."

Jeff stomped to Elvis and grabbed his shirt by the neck. "You’ll wish I'd died old man. I'm going to make your life miserable!" Fire flashed from Jeff's ebony eyes.

"But I didn't plan your death. I sent men to get you out of that prison. You're mistaken."

"I have proo..."

"Did anyone order pizza?" a teenage boy with a pimply face, waltzed onto the set.

"Cut!" Ken yelled in disgust. "I thought this was a closed set. Didn't you barricade the door Denny?" he asked his assistant director.

Denny looked at his feet sheepishly. "I think I forgot."

"Who ordered pizza?" Ken looked mad enough to chew nails. His eyes looked almost black and bulged out of his head like marbles and he scanned the room as if he could detect the culprit using x-ray vision or mental telepathy.

"Pepperoni and anchovies?" Elvis asked. Somewhere somebody had found him a new set of dentures. But they didn't quite fit his mouth and they kept popping out in the middle of shooting.

The boy nodded his head, looking apprehensive. He side-stepped Ken.

Elvis sauntered to the pizza boy and pulled a thin black leather wallet out of his pocket. He flipped it open and extracted a twenty-dollar bill. "Keep the change my boy."

"What is the meaning of this?" Ken towered over the old man. "You know this is a closed set."

"We almost had a wrap," Sabrina muttered. "My make-up is melting."

"Get that pizza pie out of here." Ken pointed off stage. "And get back here pronto. We shoot with or without you in two minutes."

Elvis sized Ken up and down to get his measure then snorted and tilted his regal head back. He sauntered away like an English Lord.

It took two more tries but the scene was going well. It was almost a wrap and Lindsay flicked her feather stole up and down partly to fan herself, partly to give her hands something to do. They were used to typing 90 words per minute and never being idle.

She scooted to the edge of her seat when Jeff lifted Sabrina in his arms. Her pulse raced and her respiration came in short gasps.

"You hoo!" a lady greeted in a singsong voice. The door at the back of the set sprang open and Lindsay's mother posed in the doorway, a felt hat on her head with a large purple flume sticking out of the top. She wore skin tight leggings and spiked high heels and a shirt heavy with sequins and feathers.

A heavy hush fell over the set and Jeff's jaw dropped. He dropped Sabrina on her butt and the actress darted him a seething look.

Elvis started laughing, a deep belly laugh, until his teeth popped out and shot onto the bed where Sabrina sprawled unceremoniously.

"Get those terrible things away from me!" she screamed, kicking at them.

"My teeth!" Elvis yelled diving for the end of the bed where they fell to the floor. He caught them two inches above the floor and sighed in relief.

Lindsay slunk down in her seat and hid behind her feather stole. She wanted to crawl out of the studio then die of embarrassment. What was her mother doing on the set? And in the middle of the stage during a shoot? And what kind of outfit was that she had donned today? It must have come from her Embarrass Lindsay line of fashion, guaranteed to make her daughter run for cover.

"Has anyone seen Lindsay Jordan?" she asked as if nothing were wrong. She walked further onto the stage and put a hand on Jeff's shoulder. "My but you're a handsome devil. Are you married or engaged?"

Lindsay could feel the bloom rush out of her cheeks like a tidal wave and she felt the butterflies practice their loop-de-loops again. Any second she just might throw up.

"Lindsay!" Ken called. "What's the meaning of this? You know it's a closed set. Get Nora Desmond outta here."

Lindsay stood and balanced as best as she could on her stiletto heels and waddled to the stage. "Come with me, Mother," she hissed under her breath, refusing to meet Jeff's amused gaze. "Let's go to my office."

"Nice dress, Linds," Beverly said loudly. "You're finally learning how to dress well."

***************************************************************

Lindsay returned from the conference with her mother just as the scene ended.

The lights went up in the house. Jeff reemerged from back stage. His face split into a tired but satisfied grin. Sabrina pressed her body against his and planted a kiss on his cheek dangerously close to his mouth.

"That was wonderful, Jeff." Sabrina tilted her head and gazed deeply into his eyes. "I’ve never worked with a more talented actor!"

Lindsay rolled her eyes heavenward then forced herself to behave. She remained seated, silent in the director’s chair, taking in everything like a hidden video camera. She schooled her expression into a blank mask but groaned inside. Sabrina was at it again. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she had Jeff’s scalp on her belt. Even then, she’d crave his undivided attention as she did from every male.

Jeff extricated himself from Sabrina’s embrace and strode toward Lindsay.

Elvis sauntered up to Sabrina and tried to catch her from behind and kiss her. She twirled on her spiked heel and fled from the stage.

Lindsay struggled to rise from the director’s chair, but she wasn’t fast enough. Within three long strides, Jeff towered over her.

Lindsay felt at a distinct disadvantage having to stare way up at him.

"Was Slade everything you dreamed?" Jeff winked.

"Slade is just fine."

"I’m glad that I’m to your liking."

"I didn’t say that." Lindsay chuckled. She exhaled a deep breath. She felt heat rise in her cheeks. This man was incorrigible. Veiled insults didn’t work with him. Maybe that was because she didn’t really mean them and she was a writer not an actress.

Mentally, Lindsay shook herself. She had to escape Jeff’s compelling charm. The longer she remained in his presence, the more she felt her resolve slipping like mossy stones under a strong river current. Giving into an actor’s charm, however innocently, would be deadly. Gary had slipped by her defenses and look what had happened. She’d loved and trusted him and he’d betrayed her. Instead of a wedding album, she had newspaper clippings.

Twice burned, older and wiser, Lindsay knew the perils that lurked behind Jeff’s winning smile. She wouldn’t walk into a no-win situation again. No way Jose.

When Lindsay didn’t reply, Jeff continued. "I’m free for the night. Can I buy you dinner?"

"It must be nice to be footloose and fancy free, but I’m a working girl. Duty calls." She struggled to her feet and felt trapped when Jeff stepped forward, pinning her knees to the edge of the canvas chair.

"Well? How about it?" he said huskily. He raked a hand through his ebony hair, glossy from his perspiration. His body looked slick and shiny as well and she wondered what it would feel like naked against hers.

"I’ll be working late." She averted her eyes. "I’ll be lucky to get out of here by nine." Lindsay scooted sideways out of her prison and started to walk away.

Jeff followed her.

"How about tomorrow night? I hear Wong Fu’s is excellent."

"Busy," Lindsay said in a singsong voice. She could feel her hair bouncing on her back and she put an extra flounce in her step. The silk underlining of the dress felt sheer and stimulating against her bare legs.

"What gives?"

"Not me," Lindsay said flippantly.

When Lindsay reached her office, Jeff grabbed her arm, turning her to face him. Surprised, she didn’t struggle or try to pull free. Rather, she looked at the hand on her arm as if a fly had landed on it.

"I’m really a lovable guy once you get to know me." His warm breath fanned her cheek and she forced herself to remain a block of solid ice.

"So your leading lady says."

"How about dinner? You have to eat sometime."

Such persistence! Her defenses threatened to fall in the face of his charm. She felt herself weakening, especially with the prospect of Chinese, but then Gary’s face superimposed itself over Jeff’s and her resolve strengthened.

"Grabbing a bite and having a dinner date are two different things entirely." She’d heard all the routines. This one was an old ploy, not worthy of her interest.

Ushering Lindsay into her office, he shut the door forcefully behind him. In the soundproof room they might as well have been alone on the planet.

Lindsay looked at him aghast.

"I don’t appreciate the audience we were attracting." He inclined his head to the group of curious bystanders who had gathered to find out why their voices were raised.

"You could have fooled me. Actors live for audiences."

Jeff took a step toward Lindsay and she backed a step away.

"Just because your fiancé was an actor and he hurt you..."

"What do you know about that?" Bristling, she faced off against him. "I guess stories that juicy don’t die." She sighed.

"Not much. But it doesn’t take a genius to see you’re still bitter and take it out on all actors." He cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand and turned her face so that their gazes clashed and held. "It isn’t healthy to keep it locked inside you."

"Now you’re a doctor?" Lindsay chuckled. "Let me guess. You played one of those commercial doctors didn’t you?" She leaned against her desk for support. Her fingers curled around the edge.

"I only want a chance to get to know you, that’s all."

"I can’t imagine why. Now if you don’t mind, I have tons of work to finish.

"I do mind." Closing the gap between them, his hands fell heavily to her shoulders.

She shuddered. Tingles danced along her spine. Flames licked her shoulders where his hands held her. But her response had nothing to do with fear.

"See? You feel it too." Jeff’s voice became sultry. It thickened with emotion. "When I touch you, you tremble. There’s something cosmic between us, Lindsay. You can deny it as much as you want, but your body speaks the truth."

"You’re either the most conceited man I’ve ever met--or the most delusional." Her brave words were ruined by her hesitant tone.

"I’m sane." Jeff’s eyes darkened, flashing fire. His mouth lowered slowly.

His warm breath heated her lips. She felt hypnotized. Movement was impossible.

He slipped one hand behind her head. Tangling his fingers in her heavy tresses, he pulled her face to his. Warm lips descended onto hers, capturing and tantalizing. At first, they brushed hers lightly.

When he lifted his lips, his gaze bore into hers. His breath came as raspy and fast as hers. His grip on her tightened, his fingers leaving their imprints on her flesh, just as his nearness left his imprint on her heart.

Caught in the magic, she lifted aching lips to his warmth. He lowered plundering lips to hers as he backed her against the wall. His arm slipped behind her, crushing her against his chest. Her breasts almost fell out of the wisps of fabric that barely covered them.

"Linds." Ken’s voice drifted to her on a cloud. It sounded uncertain. Distant. He cleared his throat.

When a foreign presence registered itself to Lindsay, she pulled away from Jeff. Heat suffused her cheeks. She hadn’t even heard the door open. Lowering her eyes in embarrassment, Lindsay refused to look at either man.

"I’m sorry I disturbed you. I’ll come back." Ken backed out the door, his loafers barely making a sound on the floor as if he was tiptoeing.

"No. That’s not necessary. I was just leaving." Jeff sounded way more composed than she felt. He was acting, but about what? About wanting her? Or acting so cool toward Ken?

Glancing at the actor through her veiled eyes, Lindsay felt awe that he appeared completely normal. But then he was full of warmth and charm, as usual.

Jeff raised his hand to her face. His knuckles gently grazed her cheek.

"Aren’t you hungry now?"

Before she could respond, Jeff strode from the office. Lindsay watched him disappear silently. She almost felt – bereaved.

Embarrassed, Ken stuck his head around the door. "Is it safe now? I didn’t mean to interrupt."

"It’s okay, Ken. I’m glad you came when you did."

"I see you’re getting to know our leading man."

"That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. He seems to be giving out samples. Things," Lindsay paused, sucking in a deep breath, "got a bit out of hand. He tried to demonstrate his irresistible charm. That’s all."

"I thought I smelled smoke." Ken grinned. "Does this mean you’re over Gary?" A hopeful light filled his eyes.

Frowning, Lindsay shook her head. "Of course. But I thought we had a deal? You’re not to bring up his name and I don’t get upset."

When Ken opened his mouth, Lindsay put words in it. "Well, I know what gave you that idea, but it’s not what you think."

"No?" Ken’s eyebrow quirked.

"Jeff Andrews was just trying to prove a point. Actors think women can’t resist them. Like most, he thinks he’s Apollo. He was rankled that I didn’t fall for his charm."

"I could see how much you hated him." Ken perched on the edge of her desk, studying her.

"And he tried to change my mind."

"Which he obviously didn’t do." Ken so enjoyed taunting her. In his own way, he was as infuriating as Jeff Andrews.

"Stop it." She’d had a belly full of teasing. She was exhausted, mentally even more than physically. "I’ve had enough turmoil for one day. You men stick together."

"That’s not fair Linds. You know I’m on your side."

CHAPTER THREE

"How long are you going to avoid me, Linds?" Jeff leaned his shoulder against her doorjamb. His shadow stretched into the hall looking sinister.

"I'm not avoiding anyone." Lindsay knew full well she avoided this man like the Black Plague. If she couldn't resist his charms, she'd just stay out of his way--far, far out of his way. She kept her voice low and steady so that she would not give him reason to doubt her sincerity. Eventually he'd get bored with her lack of response and move onto better hunting.

She leaned back in her chair, sliding the volume control down a couple of notches on her boom box. Jazz played in the background like the soap's theme song, soft and sensuous.

He straightened to his full height and sauntered into her office. He leaned over her desk. Perspiration gleamed on his skin like gold dust. "Why haven't you been to watch the tapings? We haven't had anymore teeth escape and run down the hall."

Turning back to her computer, she squinted at the screen. She highlighted a paragraph, cut and pasted it higher on the page. "I've been working. Ken's really cracking the whip this week. He wants a week's worth of scripts by Friday. Ever since Elvis's teeth crawled across stage, he's been a grizzly bear."

She peered at the computer screen and reread her words, thinking they sounded stilted and dispassionate. "I'll never win an Emmy," she muttered under her breath.

She had to have that Emmy!

Winning an Emmy for best story line or best soap had been her dream since she'd watched her first episode of All My Children and fallen deeply in lust with handsome Tad Martin. She'd learned how to do her make-up by copycatting Erika Kane. She'd wanted to be an award-winning writer like Brooke English. She'd wanted a daddy like Joe Martin.

She supposed she could get a Tamagotchi virtual daddy and practice doing all those daddy-daughter things of which she'd been cheated as a child. Would she have to introduce the Tamagotchi to her prospective boyfriends? Would it make her go to bed before midnight? Would it make her eat all her peas on her dinner plate?

Next she envisioned herself at eighty finally achieving her life-long dream of winning an Emmy. She'd be hunch-backed, wearing a red, low-cut sequined gown that revealed breasts that sagged almost to her knees. Arctic white orthopedic shoes peeked out from beneath her dress. Her curly silver hair would part to show several bald spots and false eyelashes would fall helter skelter over ghostly cheeks with too much rouge. In a scratchy voice, she'd thank everyone for finally awarding her an Emmy after fifty-eight long years of trying.

"That was the five o'clock whistle. Join me for some lo mein at Wong Fu's?" Jeff dropped his hands on her shoulders and massaged them. He whispered in her ear, his breath warmly inviting, his voice sexier than it had a right to be. "I'll split an egg roll with you."

"That feels soooo good." She closed her eyes, dreaming of scenes from Drew Roberts movies. "I've been hunched over this keyboard all day. I still have two more scripts to write by the end of the week and it's already Wednesday. Talk about brain drain." A huge sigh escaped her. She leaned back into his massage despite her firm resolve to avoid him, and then scowled. Some avoidance technique! What would her heroines do in this situation? Kiss the hero? Or deck him? Or be an iceberg and freeze him to death?

Her emotions rioted and she couldn't think straight to know what her heroines would do in this situation.

His hands moved to her neck and caressed it. He bent over her and whispered in her ear. "You need a break to clear your mind. A little moonlight. A little saxophone music. A little dancing under the stars. And..." He nibbled her sensitive earlobe. "…A little cuddling." He paused and tension hung so heavy in the air she sucked in a deep breath.

She shook her head, exhaling. "No! I have to write. I have to get this done." God! She sounded so pathetic. She had to write the script to win an Emmy. She had to put words on paper--no matter if she felt so exhausted they came out as drivel. She had to bring life to her characters and if she had to stay awake into the wee hours of the nights in rewrite, then so be it.

She had to get a life!

He swiveled her around in her chair.

Her eyelids flew open and she stared at him.

His hands rested on the arms of her chair imprisoning her. "Your eyes are bloodshot. You have to eat." He caught her small hand in his and pulled her to her feet.

"I have to write. I have to meet my deadline." She looked down at her faded blue jeans and grimaced. "I have nothing to wear to a nice restaurant." That sounded half-hearted even to her traitorous ears.

"No problemo." A charming grin spreading across his face. "Come with me."

"I'm not going to wear the Zsa Zsa or the Little Bo Peep outfit in public." She sighed, pulling back. She glanced over her shoulder at her computer and had to chuckle when the bad doggie screen saver blinked on. The bad doggie doodled on her screen then buried his doggie dung in a glaring star shaped hole. The cat from hell popped out of cyberspace and chased the pie-eyed mutt off the screen.

"You can be Indiana Jones and I'll be Zsa Zsa." He wiggled his eyebrows. He lifted his pants leg a few inches and revealed a very hairy leg. He demonstrated the can-can and she laughed. "Do you think I have the legs to wear an evening gown?"

"You have great legs." She drank her fill of this verboten man candy. "But you don't have the boobs."

"There's gotta be falsies in that wardrobe room. Jasmyn wouldn't have any chest otherwise."

When he sounded so serious, she burst out laughing. "You’re so bad!" A question itched to be voiced. "Did you always want to be an actor?"

"I was always into dressing up like Indiana Jones and Batman. Mom said I started running around the house in capes as soon as I could walk. I used to jump off chairs trying to fly like Captain America. When I climbed on the roof and tried to take a flying leap, she told me I was the Incredible Hulk and grounded me permanently."

"I wish I'd seen that." Lindsay chuckled, feeling more lighthearted and carefree than she had in years. Wisely, she didn’t stop to examine why.

"You just might. Come on." His hand clamped on hers and he pulled her behind him. "The regular wardrobe is back."

"It doesn't smell like denture cream does it?" Lindsay wrinkled her nose. "I won't wear anything that smells like Elvis' breath--that awful mix of denture cream and kissable mouth spray."

Jeff chuckled. "Ken had it dry-cleaned. And I promise I won't make you dress up as Little Bo Peep or Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz."

She laughed, unable to help herself. She looked at him lasciviously. "Will you still be Zsa Zsa?"

He turned around and gave her a stern look. She almost collided with him, halting abruptly an inch away from his face. "I'd rather be James Bond...he always gets the girl," he said in a deadly quiet voice.

Lindsay's laughter faded instantly. He was going to kiss her. All he would have to do is move half a centimeter toward her and they'd be touching. She sucked in her breath and gazed into his eyes.

"I think I spied a little black slinky thing you'd look dynamite in."

"I don't wear slinky things. Or strapless things. Or things with feathers, sequins or things that have low cleavage." She ticked the list off on her fingers--just about every fashion known to woman except blue jeans and plain sweaters.

"You should." His breathing became heavier. His gaze slid down to her breasts and grew so hot it could boil water. "You're very beautiful."

Uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny, she stepped back, breaking the spell that bound them. She cleared her throat loudly. "I'll get some lo mein but then I have to return."

"What for? You can't work in the studio alone. It's not safe." He walked toward wardrobe.

"I'll upload my work online so I can retrieve it at home. You can stand guard until I finish. Ten minutes top." She frowned. "I'll probably have to pull an all-nighter so you won't run out of lines."

"I can always ad-lib."

"Not on your life. I’ve heard you ad lib." She laughed wryly. "Ken would kill me if Elvis had a coronary on stage because you and Sabrina started playing games again."

"Let me pick your outfit." He thumbed through the women's wardrobe rack and pulled out a black slinky number. He held it up to her. "That should fit like a glove," he murmured huskily.

"I told you I don't do black and I don't do slinky." She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. Her hair swung around her slim waist.

"It won't kill you to wear it tonight, lovely Lindsay. Luscious Lindsay." He put his warm lips on the pulse at the base of her neck and flicked his tongue. "Humor me."

Lindsay grabbed the dress and jumped back, scorched. She gazed at him, measuring him up for size. "I don't think I can trust you."

"Do you have to trust everything? Everyone?" He stepped towards her, stalking her. "Are you going to put that dress on yourself--or do you need help?" He took another step towards her.

"I'll do it." She ran for a dressing room, barricading herself in. When she came out in the dress, its tight skirt hugged her behind and her legs. It made her waist look a size tinier than her normal size five and her breasts look a size larger. Sparkles shimmied on the dress when she walked and she felt like the old crystal globe that hung over the floor at her favorite roller skating rink when she was a kid.

On the other hand, bare foot, she felt like one of the Beverly Hillbillies.

Jeff joined her, his hand at his throat, loosening the knot of his tie that he had made too tight. He resembled Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. Did he realize she nursed a real weakness for the old movie stars? Drew Roberts, Bogie, Clark Gable? The good old days of soft romance and moonlight? Of dancing to the Big Bands. Of sweeping a woman off her feet with sweet talk and poetry instead of slam dancing and rap music?

God! Was she a throw back like her mother after all? She hoped not but realized the futility of having been raised by such an eccentric character and not having picked up a few eccentric traits herself. Oh well. Nobody was perfect.

"Pick yourself out some heels and let's get going. I'm hungry." His gaze caressed her from head to toe, lingering longest on her cleavage.

Just how hungry was he? She felt delicious heat rise in her cheeks, but didn't feel inclined to quench his appetite.

She found a pair of black pumps with sparkles that matched the dress perfectly and slid her feet into them. A perfect fit--like Cinderella's glass slippers. She lifted her eyes heavenward expecting to see a good fairy floating above her with a magic wand.

When she stood, balancing on the spiked heels, Jeff's eyes twinkled appreciatively. He grinned roguishly and held out his hand to her.

She accepted his hand and felt as good as gold. Even in the high heels she had to tilt her head to look up at him. She looked straight at the tip of his patrician nose. On the empty set, her heels click-clicked on the hard floor. She felt like grinning from ear to ear but smiled smugly instead.

He settled her into the black leather seat of a shiny black Porsche and closed the door gently but firmly after her. Hesitating a moment, he drew a gold cigarette case out of his pocket, extracted a slim cheroot and stuck it between his lips. He flipped a gold lighter open, lit the cheroot and inhaled. With the orange gold sun setting at his back filtering through gently waving palm trees, he looked like an ad for expensive automobiles or men's cologne.

Honeysuckle wafted on the breeze and she inhaled deeply of its sweet scent.

He strode to his side of the car and slid his long frame inside. Putting his key in the ignition, he coaxed the engine to purr.

With one hand on the steering wheel, he turned the Porsche off the lot and headed south onto a palm tree lined divided boulevard. The shadows grew longer and a few stars twinkled overhead. Wind whipped at Lindsay's hair, blowing it into her face. She laughed with glee.

She had never felt so free, so wild.

"What do you want to eat tonight?" His gaze fell on her appreciatively. Was she to read a double meaning?

"Sweet and sour chicken." She had to negate any double entendre.

He grinned and picked up his car phone.

Lifting a querulous brow when he punched in a number, she realized they had passed Wong Fu's long ago. "Are you kidnapping me?" she cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled to be heard above the wind.

He slid a sideways glance at her. "Sort of."

"Where are you taking me?" If he tried to keep her somewhere too long, she'd call a taxi to take her home. He'd learn that he couldn't get his own way all the time just because he was an actor.

"I thought we'd go to my house. The Chinese should arrive right after us. We can dine by the pool--under the moonlight." He raised his voice to be heard over the wind. "I thought that would be cozier."

He turned the little foreign job east and whipped it into a long driveway lined with flowering trees and palms. Slowing to a crawl, he aimed a garage door opener at the white door. He commanded the door to open as if he had said Open Sesame.

She pushed her door wide and swung stockinged legs out the side of the car. The leather felt soft as baby's skin on the underside of her legs. When Jeff offered her his hand, she took it without question.

They walked hand in hand up an inclined sidewalk to his house. She felt sure she was entering a dream castle floating high on a cloud.

He pushed his key in the door and swung it wide, revealing a plush interior full of tropical plants. He held it open for Lindsay.

"What d'ya hear? What d'ya say?" a high pitched inhuman voice demanded, just like Jimmy Cagney.

Perplexed, Lindsay looked around the room. Her apartment seemed nice, but Jeff's furnishings all in mauve made her place look like the show room at the local thrift shop. He must have spent a fortune on the living room alone. She hadn't realized that off-Broadway actors earned the kind of money he seemed to have at his fingertips. He hadn't been a member of Secret's cast long enough to accumulate this kind of cash.

She didn't see anyone and inched closer to the actor. "Do you have a room mate?" Then the voice squawked and she realized it belonged to a bird. She raised her eyes toward the ceiling and spied a green and yellow parrot perched in a large gold cage hanging from the ceiling.

"That's King Lear. But he can't decide if he's Elton John or Jimmy Cagney," Jeff whispered, cracking a smile. He squeezed her hand.

"Why'd you name your bird King Lear?" She shot him a quizzical gaze, her curiosity getting the better of her. "That's rather whimsical."

"Why not? A rose is a rose by any other name," he said melodramatically, his voice rich and melodious as if he were a Shakespearean actor.

She itched to ask the question uppermost in her mind, unable to hold it back a second longer. "Why does he think he's Elton John or Jimmy Cagney?" She studied the bird. The parrot looked rather ordinary--the type that would say Polly wanna cracker? Actually, he looked a bit on the scruffy side.

"Lear, meet Lindsay. Say hello to Lindsay." Jeff acted as if he were introducing heads of state. She quelled a smile.

The bird tilted his lime green head almost horizontal and studied Lindsay with his black, beady eyes. He lifted his yellowish-green wings and spread them an inch or so and flapped them. "Hey baby. You're a pretty good lookin' dish," he squawked.

"Sing like Elton John for Lindsay." Jeff lifted his hand as if he were a flamboyant orchestral leader.

"Me and Suzie had fun, dancing to the Crocodile Rock...," the bird sang a jumbled up version of an Elton John medley tunelessly.

Clapping her hands, Lindsay laughed gleefully. "He's wonderful. He should be on TV."

"Sometimes he does fund raisers for charity events. The kids love him, but..."

"But what?" She looked from Jeff to the bird who was singing Yellow Brick Road now. "He must bring in tons of money."

"He has an X-rated mouth. I can't leave him alone for a minute." Jeff sent the bird a stern, big brotherly look.

"I don't believe it!" Lindsay said. "King Lear swears?"

"Among other things." He led Lindsay to the couch and pulled her down beside him, draping his arm over her bare shoulders and she shivered deliciously.

The doorbell chimed a Christmas tune and Lindsay smiled. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"You haven't even seen half." Jeff smiled, stretching to his full height. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a fine brown leather wallet.

"What's the big idea?" King Lear screeched, imitating Jimmy Cagney again, flapping his wings. "We'd better scram."

She looked at the bird then at Jeff, her brows drawn together. Could Jeff be in the mob? That might explain all his money.

"I told you." Jeff frowned at the bird. "Be quiet Lear. You're getting me in trouble with the lady."

"Hi ya baby!" the bird repeated. "I like your big bazoombas!"

"Pardon me?" Apprehension about being alone with Jeff and his crazy bird, shot through her. The moon shone through the skylight, bathing the room in its soft glow. She hadn't realized until now that Jeff hadn't turned on any lights. But the room seemed surprisingly light for eight o'clock at night without the aid of artificial light.

"Bennie and the Jets," the bird sang like Elton John and squawked intermittently. He bounced his head back and forth in Ray Charles fashion. Laughter bubbled up in her.

The delicious scent of Chinese sweet and sour sauce wafted to her nostrils, mixed with wisteria from the flowering trees outside and she almost swooned. Little spirals of smoke tickled her nose. "Do you need help?" Lindsay stood.

"Stick 'em up. You're all covered," the bird chanted now. "Say your prayers mugs. Squawk!"

The young kid delivering the Chinese stuck his head around the door and looked inside. Lindsay laughed at the comical expression on the boy's face.

"It's just my bird." Jeff took a twenty and a ten spot out of his wallet and handed it to the kid. "Keep the change."

"Rocket Man..." King Lear launched into another medley.

"Thanks!" The kid grinned from ear to ear. "Cool bird." He be-bopped down the drive in rhythm to the Elton John medley.

Jeff closed his front door firmly and carried the low cut cardboard box toward her. "He watches too much television while I'm working."

When she lifted her brow and threw him a who-are-you-kidding look, Jeff smiled. "He gets lonely when I'm working full time. It keeps him company." Jeff looked sheepish. "And he hears me rehearse."

"Here you are baby," King Lear leered back in his Jimmy Cagney mode. He jumped off his perch and grabbed the bars with his large sharp talons. "Try your luck, blondie?"

"What kind of shows do you let him watch?" Lindsay asked disapprovingly. She looked at the bird. "So sorry chum. I'm not blond."

"I turn on the American Movie Channel or Nickelodeon. I thought they'd be safe." Jeff scowled at the bird. "I think they had a Jimmy Cagney film festival on last week. He's on this bad cop kick now." Jeff inclined his head towards the back of the house. "He's just like a kid. You have to watch every word out of your mouth or he'll pick it up and repeat it at the worst possible time."

"How'd he learn the Elton John songs?" Lindsay asked.

"Dunno." He shrugged his shoulders. "I guess the guy who owned him before me was an Elton John fan. He knew all the songs before I got him."

"I see." She gave the bird one last look as she followed Jeff out of the house to the pool deck. "You'd better not let him watch George Carlin or you'll wind up with a slander suit on your hands."

"Me and Suzie had so fun.. Bennie and the Jets..." King Lear sang tunelessly, his head bouncing back and forth. He didn't seem to realize or care that he skipped words and jumbled up the lyrics.

Jeff stopped at the kitchen and took two large plates out of an exquisite stained glass cabinet. She helped him dish up the food. The sweet and sour chicken smelled so succulent she popped a piece in her mouth and sighed in ecstasy.

"Yellow brick road crocodile Bennie," King Lear sang as she chuckled under her breath.

Jeff took a bottle of chilled champagne out of a wine cooler next to the refrigerator and stuck it under the crook of his arm. The glass began to sweat in the warm California night. Water droplets slid down the side of the light green bottle.

He put his platter on the mauve faux marble counter top and opened the back door. He held it with his shoulder and Lindsay walked onto the wooden deck.

Her jaw dropped and she stopped mid-gait. If she had thought the house splendid, the deck looked like a tropical paradise! Miniature Sabal Palms grew everywhere, mixed with flowering shrubs and Birds of Paradise. Air moss hung from the several tree branches, swinging softly in the gentle breeze.

Floodlights lit the bottom of a splendidly tiled pool. Two deluxe air mattresses floated on top of the water across the pool. A small Jacuzzi built right into the side of the pool, bubbled like a hot spring. Comfy deck chairs and recliners lounged poolside. There was even a deluxe wooden cabana acting as a wet bar on the north end of the pool. Had she died and gone to Jamaica? This looked better than Club Med! Any minute she expected a cabana boy to stroll out balancing a tray on his hand to take her drink order.

"I think I died and went to Heaven." How she’d love to live in a paradise like this.

"I know I did. Sit over there." His gaze bore into her, heating her from the inside out. He inclined his head to a round wooden table on the south end of the pool. It lay in complete shadow but tiny white lights wound around nearby palms twinkled, providing a festive atmosphere.

Shrugging out of his jacket, he flung it over a nearby chair. He rolled his shirtsleeves up, took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a wonderful chest of dark, curling hair. Her fingers itched to run through it. "Take off your shoes and get comfortable."

She kicked her heels under her chair. One landed askew on its side and she left it lying where it fell.

Jeff held the Champagne bottle away from himself, Lindsay and the pool and popped the top. The cork sailed through the air and champagne spurted out of the bottle. He held it until the fizz died down then poured the bubbly liquid into each shallow, long-stemmed glass.

She dug into her sweet and sour chicken with a vengeance. Intermittently, she took dainty sips of the champagne. The bubbles tickled her nose.

He put a juicy chunk of Mongolian Beef on his fork and raised it to her lips. Her gaze flew to his, astonished, and he smiled wryly. She parted her lips and took the meat in her mouth, closing the lips over Jeff's fork. She groaned in ecstasy.

Chinese take-out had never tasted so incredibly delicious, so intoxicatingly heady. Or was it the atmosphere? Or the company?

Light headed, in no pain, she smiled dreamily at Jeff.

"Do you want to pop into the Jacuzzi?" He seemed to be smiling more, too.

"I don't have a swimming suit." She cupped her chin in her palm and stared into his ebony eyes. "You know how incredibly beautiful this is?"

His gaze smoldered on her. Without a hint of shame, his gaze lingered on her. "How could I miss?"

Melt down started in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t string two coherent thoughts together.

Standing, he unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way. He pulled it off and flung it behind him. It landed on a small Sabal Palm. "We don't need suits. The fence is eight feet high. The neighbors can't see us."

Before she could say a word of protest or affirmation, he unsnapped his slacks and let them fall to the ground. Fascinated, she couldn't take her eyes off him. He was built! Her heart sped up. Her breathing came faster when he stepped out of his slacks. All that covered him were his dark blue briefs. Dark, curly hair covered his legs profusely.

"When his love he doth espy, let her shine as gloriously," Jeff rasped huskily, quoting Shakespeare, "As the Venus of the sky. Come here." His sultry tones washed over her, heating her up unbearably. She couldn't resist his command anymore than if he were magnetic north and she, magnetic south. She had no thought of resisting him. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and her hips sashayed as she entered his arms.

Folding her in his embrace, he lowered his mouth on hers. She parted hungry lips, swaying against him. When he unzipped her dress and let it slide to her feet, she didn't utter a word of protest. A moan of pure delight rose in her throat.

CHAPTER FOUR

"I see you're hard at work," a mocking voice hailed Lindsay. The tones icy.

Sighing, Lindsay turned towards her door.

"What do you want Sabrina?"

"That's no way to greet someone," Sabrina pouted, wide lips turned way down.

"So I've been told." Her mother had said nearly the same thing to her. She would really have to work on her manners. She'd think about it tomorrow.

"I just wanted to share the latest news with you. I thought you'd like to know..."

"Know what?"

"Secrets is at the top of the ratings this week and I just signed a contract to represent Sunny Margolin Butter. I'm their new spokesperson. Isn't that the most?" She patted her hair and smiled.

It was hard to hold a grudge against Sabrina when she seemed so genuinely friendly, but Lindsay found it difficult to believe after all the bad blood that had passed between them.

"I'm happy for you. I hope this is your lucky break," Lindsay said.

"That and the new story should give me lots of exposure while the Emmy nominations are being made. You will give me some juicy lines and good scripts, won't you Linds?" She smiled her sweetest smile.

"Don't worry, 'Bree. I want an Emmy as much as you do. We're on the same team." Like it or not.

"Isn't that a twist of fate? You must admit how ironic it is. The two of us working together?" Sabrina flipped her strawberry blonde curls behind her shoulder and laughed, a sweet, tinkling sound.

Lindsay merely smiled. After their fight over Gary, they hadn't worked on anything together. When Gary had been the star of Secrets, Sabrina had wanted him with a vengeance. It had been evident from the moment she laid eyes on him that he had bewitched her.

But Lindsay had wanted Gary too. When they'd met, lightning had struck, much the same way it had when she first laid eyes on Jeff Andrews. Yet now she knew her attraction to Gary wasn't nearly so magnetic as she'd once thought. Gary had wooed and courted her. He hadn't looked twice at Sabrina--or so she'd thought. He had followed Lindsay around like a puppy dog, relentless but cute and irresistible.

Gary's charms had practically made her head swivel. What she hadn't known is that after he kissed her goodnight, he'd whispered sweet nothings to Sabrina all night. How long Gary had led a double life, she couldn't be sure, but long enough to humiliate her.

Sabrina had tried to make Lindsay's life miserable ever since.

"Good morning, Lindsay," Jeff whispered in her ear. His warm breath tickled her ear lobe. He kissed her cheek on her freckles.

Lindsay averted her face from him. She continued typing. "Morning."

Jeff straightened behind her. "Is something wrong darling?" Confusion laced his words.

"Nothing's wrong," she said in clipped tones. God! What had they done the night before? She had vague visions of being in Jamaica under the moonlight but that seemed crazy and her head pounded wickedly! She rubbed her left temple with the pads of two outstretched fingers and winced.

"Is the script going well?" He perched on the side of her desk, one leg stretched to the floor, the other curled up and swinging back and forth.

"Fine."

"If everything's fine, then why are you talking in monosyllables? Why won't you look at me?" He smoothed a handful of her hair between his thumb and third finger.

Lindsay refused to answer or look at him. She kept her eyes glued on the computer.

"After last night, I assumed..."

"Perhaps, you assume too much." What had she done? Another actor?

He spun her around to face him. Large hands imprisoned her on both sides of her chair and he towered over her.

"What do I assume?" A dangerous twinkle danced in his eyes. He lifted an eyebrow.

"How I feel about you, for one," she murmured. Embarrassing heat crept into her cheeks at the vague visions that filled her mind. His pants decorating a palm tree. Her borrowed dress pooled on the ground. Swimming in the lighted pool sans clothing. Jeff's lips kissing very intimate parts of her body while he murmured Shakespeare in her ear.

"How do you feel about me?" His voice was dangerously quiet. His eyes narrowed. He stood very, very still, his gaze glued to her face.

"Confused. Perplexed. Irritated." She sighed deeply. "I wonder why you're hanging around me. Gorgeous actresses are a dime a dozen around here. I'm a nobody."

"Wouldn't that be pretty shallow of me? Is that what you think of me?"

"Don't all men prefer gorgeous blondes? Like Sabrina?" Lindsay chuckled dryly. "Even your ditzy parrot."

"You're gorgeous. Don't you know that? Don't you ever look at yourself in the mirror?" When his finger traced her jaw line, she closed her eyes and shivered involuntarily.

"I'm okay. Nothing spectacular." She spread her hands out before her. "I can't compete."

"No you can't," Jeff murmured.

Lindsay felt like a hot weather balloon with a fast leak. "What an unchivalrous and ungallant thing to say." Even if she'd walked right into it. She pursed her lips and looked away. He should know. He'd seen all there was to see of her. She winced. Excedrin headache number ninety-nine pounded against her temples.

He lifted her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. "What I meant," he said, "is that you're so beautiful you don't have to compete with her or anybody else."

"Gary didn't think so." Her lashes veiled her eyes to hide her pain.

"Forget what that loser thinks!" Jeff almost exploded. "Why are you even still thinking about him?"

"Who says I am?" She leaned back in her chair. She crossed her legs at her ankles and stared at Jeff.

"Touchy, aren't we? This Gary character must have struck a nerve. Should I be worried about him?"

"Why should you be worried about Gary or anyone else?" Annoyed, a frown tugged at the corner of her mouth. She tapped the toe of her half boot on the floor.

"Is he competition?"

"He's not competition for anyone as far as I'm concerned, but why would you say that anyway?" Lindsay asked, perplexed.

"We belong together. You can feel it as well as I can," Jeff murmured huskily. His thumbs rubbed concentric circles on her sensitive inner wrists and she pulled back as if burned. His eyes darkened to pools of pure ebony and reminded her of a bottomless pit.

"I don't know any such thing. We had one wonderful night together," Lindsay lowered her voice so that she wouldn't be overheard by passers by, "but that's all..."

"You're wrong. We could have something special--if you'd allow it..." He finger combed his ebony hair. If she hadn't known better, she'd think he was agitated.

"Look, Jeff," Lindsay said. "I'm as susceptible to your pretty face and sexy voice as the next girl. I like it when you play Romeo to my Juliet. Hey, I'll admit to my Achilles Heel and tell you I'm highly attracted to you. I even like your parrot. But..." She spread her hands before her expressively.

"But what?" Jeff narrowed his eyes and glared at her. "I'm an actor so I have no soul? No depth?" He stood and towered over her. "I have no feelings?"

"Basically." She looked anywhere but square in his eyes. Memories of the two actors who’d ripped her heart to shreds, assaulted her, enraged her. It scared her to death. She couldn’t put herself through that kind of agony again. She might as well put herself in the wall of a typhoon. "Actors can't be trusted. I pity the poor women who fall in love with you and your actor friends--they might as well join a harem."

"Don't make blanket assumptions. I'm as trustworthy as they come." Jeff lifted his fingers in the Boy Scout salute.

"I can't take that chance." She shook her hair and her curls fell over her cheeks.

"You're impossible." His hands shot out, hauling her into his arms. He crushed her lips under his.

She refused to show any emotion even though desire rose in the pit of her belly. She went limp against him without responding. Last night had been a giant mistake. Once she had responded to his charms, he'd thought he'd signed the ownership papers lock, stock and barrel.

He wound his fingers in her curls and pulled her lips closer to his in a searing kiss.

It took all her strength, but she refused to move her lips, to move her hands from her sides where they hung limply. This was a fight to the finish. Heaven help her, but she would be victorious in this. This time. She would not let the actor get the better of her again.

But when he changed tactics and his lips became very soft and teasing, even sensual--they became her undoing. She wasn't prepared for this onslaught on her senses. Fury she could resist. Harsh demand she would deny. But tenderness. Teasing. Seduction. She had no power to resist these lures. Not from this man.

Despite her firm resolve to remain a statue, her traitorous body trembled. Without her volition, her arms crept around Jeff's back. They crept to his shoulders and she spread them flat over his arching muscles. All thought of struggle melted. She parted her lips to his kiss and drank of his strength.

After an eon, he lifted his lips a fraction from hers. Breathing hard, he gazed into her eyes. His gaze held a hint of conquest. His breath hot against her lips, he murmured, "Do you still despise me?" He released her abruptly and stepped back.

Pivoting on his heel, he strode for the door. When he reached the doorway, he stopped and turned, his glance disdainful. "I'm not a piece of meat, nor am I like all other actors. The sooner you stop judging people, the better off you'll be."

Lindsay opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She touched her lips that felt hot and swollen from his kisses. Tears pooled in her eyes. She stared at his back, completely dumbfounded.

What could she honestly say? That she believed him? That he had changed her mind with one little kiss? She already knew too well how physically attractive she found many actors, how well they could turn emotion on and off with the blink of an eye.

One night of wild passion couldn't tell her if he were trustworthy or loyal. It couldn't promise fidelity.

His fingers curled around her door and slammed it hard. Burbank and the surrounding towns probably felt the earth tremor.

Lindsay leaned against her desk and stared at the door. Why did she feel like Scarlet O'Hara watching Rhet Butler walk out on her? Only she didn't feel as arrogant or sure of herself as Scarlet. She expected, even wanted Jeff to keep on walking straight out of her life. Didn't she? His absence would eliminate all threat of danger to her heart.

***********************************************************

This was too much torture for any soul to endure.

Lindsay fidgeted, wrapping a strand of her hair around her finger. She bit her lower lip.

Jeff had stomped out of her office earlier, fury blazing from his eyes. She couldn't blame him, not after goading him the way she had. Despite her brave words, she felt distraught. Since their scene, Lindsay had stared humbly at her computer screen. Finally, she had closed her door so no one would notice her distress. Only when Ken had dragged her out of her office, had she seen another soul.

Now she had to witness the love scene she had created. Lindsay should feel pleasure in seeing her words enacted so artfully, in seeing Slade come to life, but she only felt dread. Slade and Saffron had Emmy nominations written all over them. Sparks flew when they gazed into each other's eyes. Everyone on the set, even the veteran cast members, sat on the edge of their seats when Jeff and Sabrina took the stage. No one dared drop even a pin to disturb the compelling scene.

She knew what was coming. Slade was about to take Saffron in his arms. He would plunder her with kisses, lift her in his arms, then carry her to his bedroom. He would bury his face in her hair, trail kisses along the arch of her neck, and then lower her to the bed. Their bed. It would be absolute, primitive seduction.

She wanted to close her eyes to shut out the jealousy she felt when Jeff touched Sabrina. She wanted to fire Sabrina and play Saffron's part herself. No matter what she had told Jeff earlier, she longed to be in his arms.

Mesmerized, she watched as Jeff swept Sabrina into his embrace. His lips captured hers, plundering them mercilessly. Gathering Sabrina closely in his arms, Jeff kissed her thoroughly. This didn't look like any stage kiss she'd ever seen. They had passed acting long ago in her humble opinion. He crushed Sabrina against his chest. His fingers tangled in her hair, holding her head to his. Sabrina's hand crept to Jeff's chest, slipping inside his shirt. When he finally released her lips, he trailed erotic kisses to the valley of Sabrina's breasts.

Everyone in the studio held their breath. She wanted to shout that this wasn't in the script. Her nails dug into the palm of her hand, pricking pinpoints of blood. Her other hand gripped the arm of her seat so tightly, her knuckles paled. Even her treacherous heart lurched sickeningly.

Jeff's ad-libbing created dimensions almost too steamy to air on American television. But then Secrets’ audience had proven time and again that they wanted romance into which they could sink their teeth. Most of their viewers would love this seduction scene. Ratings would soar and the nominations committee would have to notice Secrets and its stars. Much as Lindsay longed to stop this scene, indeed to kill the entire story, the image of winning the Emmy prevented her from such a drastic measure. Winning the award would propel her career to unprecedented heights. The award would give her increased credibility and build her resume so that when she wrote her movie script, financial backers would scramble to back her.

But she wasn't sure that money and fame could compensate for the pain she was experiencing at this moment. Something more than acting was going on in front of her eyes. Fame and money didn't constitute everything good.

Jeff was truly seducing Sabrina right in front of her.

How could he? It seemed that he had meant his parting remark that he could find plenty of women who wanted him. And he intended to prove it to her and all America. Only an actor could be so callous and cavalier as to flaunt his affairs de coeur in front of everyone. Lindsay had no doubt that Jeff was thoroughly enjoying his role. Who else could earn a fortune for kissing a glamorous woman? There was one other profession that came to mind, and right now, she lumped the two together.

Her heart lurched when Jeff carried Sabrina toward the bedroom. Kicking the door open, Jeff carried Sabrina across the threshold. She caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were darkened with passion. Pain seared her. It's flames shot through her body, engulfing her. When Jeff lowered Sabrina to the bed very tenderly, Lindsay felt her heart shatter.

A hand dropped to her shoulder. Surprised, she jumped.

"Magnificent scene, Linds. You haven't been practicing this by any chance now, have you?" Ken whispered.

Tilting her head back to send a scorching glare at her boss, she glowered at him. She'd known that, if anyone had caught her in even the appearance of a romantic interlude with an actor, unmerciful teasing would follow. However, she hadn't expected her old buddy, Ken, to be the source.

Her lips curled. "Where would I get practice?"

"I thought Andrews might be giving you some private tutoring." Ken lowered himself to the director's chair by her side. His long legs unfurled in front of him and he crossed his arms comfortably.

"Sabrina wouldn't like that," Lindsay murmured.

"Who cares what Sabrina thinks?"

Playfully, Lindsay punched Ken on his shoulder. She smiled, enjoying their frolicking. It took her mind off the seduction scene, if only temporarily.

Ken tweaked a strand of her hair in retaliation.

Behind Lindsay, a low voice murmured in her ear, "If you're not careful, Ms Jordan, you might be accused of being fun."

She looked up to see Troy Young grinning at her mischievously. As actors went, Troy wasn't too bad. He seemed a bit immature, but basically, she'd peg him for a good guy. Funny it seemed, how the nice guys made the best villains. Lindsay surmised that was because they could take a joke. The true prima donnas demanded they play only heroes.

"Watch what you say Troy. I may give you an evil twin named Damian if you're not nice to me." She smiled her most wicked smile.

Troy held his heart in a mock attack. He staggered back a few paces. "Oh no! Double trouble. Since you created Lucius, there isn't a nice girl in all of Southern California who will even speak to me."

"Then you're in luck," Ken drawled. "You like the naughty girls better from what I hear." Ken clapped the young man on his shoulder and Troy stumbled forward a pace.

"True!" Troy chuckled. "Good girls are dull."

"Have you noticed, Ken, that Lucius is rubbing off on him more and more lately?" Lindsay asked.

"Perish the thought. I wouldn't introduce Lucius to my worst enemy," Troy said.

"Maybe you should work on making Lucius a nicer person, Linds." A twinkle lit Ken’s eyes.

"And rob me of my nomination for Best Villain in the Emmy's? I would never speak to you again!" Troy sent a mock glare Ken’s way.

"Done!" She could play along with a joke. She couldn’t necessarily keep a straight face, but she’d try.

"You're breaking my heart, pretty lady. Which reminds me, would you have dinner with me tonight?"

And let you win the bet? You're out of your mind! "I'm sorry, Troy. You know I make it a policy not to date co-workers."

Ken's eyebrows shot up, but his lips remained sealed.

She shot him a quelling glance and folded her arms under her breasts.

"One of these days, Lindsay, you'll give in. And I'll be there to see." Troy shot her his most heart-wrenching smile as he turned to leave.

Under her breath, Lindsay muttered when Troy was out of earshot, "You don't fool me."

"You mean their silly little bet? It's harmless and it keeps them out of trouble."

She quirked an eyebrow and lifted her chin. "Feels like harassment to me. I don't want to be the brunt of their jokes and innuendoes."

"I'll talk to them again, Linds..."

"That's a take!" Denny announced. "Fantastic job people. Keep it up and you'll grab the Emmy."

"That's my cue to go. Drop by my office later. I have a few things to discuss with you." Ken rose, surprisingly lithe for his heavy stature.

"All right." Lindsay stood, too.

Troy's voice drifted to her. "Are you sure you were acting?"

Despite her resolve to ignore Jeff as much as she could, she turned. Troy's eyebrows quirked meaningfully. Jeff smiled secretly at Sabrina.

When Sabrina tiptoed to plant a kiss on Jeff's lips, Lindsay froze. Jeff didn't move away. Rather, he returned the kiss with a fervor she knew well. His lips molded to Sabrina's languorously. They took their time, not at all concerned that they were in the middle of a throng of people. A few people smiled knowingly as they passed but no one disturbed the pair.

This was too much to bear. No one should have to endure such misery.

Whirling, she left.

**************************************************************

Jeff broke away from Sabrina the moment Lindsay turned away. Sabrina looked confused and he felt a twinge of guilt. Perhaps he had carried his mission to make Lindsay jealous, a little too far. "You're a good actress," he whispered to Sabrina and clipped her on the chin lightly as if she was one of the guys.

But he couldn't get his mind off the writer. No one had infuriated him the way Lindsay Jordan had.

How could she believe that he had used her callously, that he had played with her emotions? How could she not understand that the desire and the longing he showed her was only for her? Could her ex-fiancé have treated her so badly that she had no self-confidence left or that she had no trust to give? She had practically called him a gigolo. And that was one of her kinder moments.

After their date, there was no denying their sizzling attraction to one another. Together, they made magic. No one had evoked such feelings in him. All Lindsay had to do was step into the room for his senses to scream. He'd wager that the same held true for Lindsay. After the way she responded to him, she couldn't feel impartial. He had enjoyed her response in her office after their row, when he'd proved to her that she couldn't resist him.

He knew she didn't mean her parting remark. She couldn't touch him the way she had nor would her gaze turn to molten lava the way it did, if she felt nothing for him. He could feel her longing. Now his job was to convince her she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He'd just set the plan in motion. Sabrina provided the perfect vehicle to make Lindsay jealous. Sabrina's beauty, reputation, and most importantly, her feud with Lindsay, worked wonderfully well for her new role.

A few well-spoken words, a few too passionate kisses, and Lindsay would crack. She'd beg him to forgive her. She'd run back into his arms and she'd be so happy to be with him, she'd divulge her secret about his script.

Why didn't he feel as sure as his brave thoughts? Because Lindsay remained an enigma. She didn't react the way other women did. What if he erred? Instead of winning her, he'd lose her forever.

Forever?

That implied commitment of the until-I-die category and such loyalty seemed too high a price to pay.

Maybe what had happened was for the best after all and he should forget Lindsay Jordan.

"Jeff! The mail just arrived. You really need to see it." Sabrina looked like an excited little girl when she bounced toward him.

"I take it that no one died? Did you win the lottery?" He enjoyed teasing his co-star. She reminded him of his little cousin.

"Our first fan mail just arrived. There's bags and bags full of letters. For us!" she exclaimed. "Don't you want to see how much you got?" Sabrina clamped her hands around his arm and pulled gently, backing up.

"We have a PR department here that handles responses, don't we?" He hung back, not really into the PR stuff.

"Of course, silly! But aren't you excited? Don't you want to see how much we got. There are several big bags for each of us."

"That's nice." He had never been overly concerned with popularity. His mother and ex-wife Jennifer had tried to get him to be more concerned about public relations and promoting his stage image. He knew it was important to build a following, but other than that, he didn't allow fame to swell his head.

"It's fantastic! The more fan mail we get, the more money we'll get on our next contract. That's not to mention the movie offers that will start to pour in and the publicity we'll get for this," Sabrina gushed.

Jeff followed Sabrina obligingly. What could it hurt if this made her happy?

Beverly Jordan flounced through the rear studio door, brandishing a cigarette holder.

Sabrina grimaced and rolled her eyes heavenward.

"That's Beverly Jordan, Lindsay's mother. I can't stand it when she calls me Serena. She can never get my name right."

"What do you think Beverly wants?" Jeff asked.

Sabrina laughed. "One can never tell with Beverly. Your autograph maybe? Watch out," Sabrina warned, preparing for flight. "She'll talk your ear off."

"I don't mind meeting a fan." Jeff really wanted to meet Lindsay's mother.

"But I thought you didn't care for PR?" Sabrina sounded perplexed.

"You can't afford to antagonize your audience. I'll keep Mrs. Jordan busy while you slip away, if you like."

"I couldn't do that to you," Sabrina said. Her gaze darted to Beverly, who was making a beeline for them.

"That's all right. I really don't mind." Urgency entered his voice. "You'd better go now. Mrs. Jordan's closing in at ten o'clock."

"You're a doll." She squeezed his arm and scurried in the opposite direction.

"Serena always runs in the other direction when I see her," Beverly sounded confused but not overly concerned.

"I think the producer wanted to speak to her." Jeff lied so Beverly's feelings wouldn't be hurt.

"I suppose he has a lot to discuss with her." Beverly looked thoughtful.

"How can I help you?" Jeff inquired, trying to hide his amusement. She didn't remind him of Lindsay at all. Perhaps the stork had delivered Lindsay to the wrong house.

"I wanted to tell you what a marvelous actor I think you are, Slade. My daughter has been telling me all about you and your story. I just had to come and meet you for myself."

"I'm honored that you should say so. And who is your daughter?" Jeff didn't want to appear too knowledgeable.

"I'm Beverly Jordan and Lindsay Jordan is my daughter. You can call me Beverly."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Beverly. I'm Jeff Andrews. You have a very talented and beautiful daughter. But, I must say, you look more like her sister."

Beverly blushed. She shook her head vigorously. "I keep telling her that too, but she doesn't believe me."

A faraway gleam entered Beverly's eyes. "Andrews did you say? I once knew a man named Andrews." Her eyes narrowed. Beverly assessed Jeff from head to toe. "You look familiar. You're that handsome young man I saw the other day, aren't you? I wonder..."

"Wonder what, Ma'am?" She couldn't have made the connection could she? Maybe she realized that his father was Drew Andrews? As swiftly as the thought had come, Jeff dismissed it. Although his father had enjoyed a modicum of success, his movies were rarely shown anymore. One might catch them on the late-late show. She'd probably seen him in one of his plays.

"Nothing. Nothing. My imagination must be playing tricks on me again. I'm not as young as I used to be."

"You can't be a day over thirty, can you?" Jeff turned on his most charming smile.

Beverly's laughter tinkled. Jeff felt a kinship with her already. She seemed the open and friendly sort, someone to whom he could relate. How could Lindsay be so aloof and sassy? Maybe she was adopted?

"You're a dear to say so, but Lindsay is almost twenty-eight. Don't tell her I told you or she'd have my hide." Beverly gazed at him with a mixture of adoration and apprehension.

"Of course, I won't. She's really twenty-seven? She only looks twenty." What a luscious twenty-seven.

"My Lindsay has a few surprises up her sleeve. Why she insists on wasting them, I'll never know." Censure crept into her tones. She pursed her lips sadly and shook her head. Heaving a huge sigh, she said with pathos, "She'll never have my fashion sense."

"I was just going to the chuck wagon to grab a bite to eat. Would you like to join me?" He held out his arm to her and she put her gloved hand through the crook of his arm.

****************************************************** "I met him!" Beverly said in a singsong voice. She waltzed into Lindsay's office like a breath of fresh air.

Lindsay whirled in her chair, surprised by the lilting voice. She pulled the earphones off her head and let them rest on her neck. Whispers of jazz music drifted to her.

"Met who, Mother?" She cringed but tried to hide her reaction from Beverly. Oh my God. Look what she's worn to the studio today; Tight, fluorescent pink, spandex pants, a lime green sweater one size too small with pompoms adorning the low cut, scooped neck and long, dangly earrings. Lindsay shielded her eyes from the glare, hoping no one had seen her mother. Then guilt stabbed her heart at her ungracious thoughts. This was the woman who'd carried her in her womb for nine months, after all.

"Slade. No. I mean that nice Jeffrey Andrews bought me coffee and we had a little chat." Beverly adjusted her clothes where they pinched her.

"You didn't!" Gulping on the words, Lindsay swiveled in her chair to stare at her mother.

"Oh, yes. We had a very pleasant conversation. I haven't met such a nice young man in ages. He's a real charmer, too, that one," she said in a singsong voice.

You should meet his bird. "I really hadn't noticed." She hoped her mother couldn't detect the edge in her voice or the matchmaker from hell wouldn't give up--- like the last time she got it in her head that Lindsay should marry her exterminator--until she discovered the man had inhaled so many insecticides he was infertile and couldn't give her grandchildren. Saved by the bug. She bit back an unrepentant grin.

"He's not married or engaged," Beverly said nonchalantly. She pretended to study her nails, as if her statement were ordinary conversation.

"So, what brings you here today?" Oh God? Had Beverly been going around the studio asking all her male co-workers if they were married or engaged? Had her mother given all the men in the studio a survey sheet to fill out so she could find the best husband prospects? Inwardly, Lindsay groaned. Still, she kept her chin high.

"Did you get our tickets for the Emmy Awards yet?" Excitement glittered in Beverly’s eyes. She brandished a gold plated cigarette holder in her hand. "Are our seats close to the front of the stage?"

"I get two tickets every year. You always get my second ticket." She tried to keep the note of irritation out of her voice. But honestly! Her mother reminded her of a little kid sometimes, one who asked inane questions over and over like a broken record.

"You still don't have a date?" Beverly’s brows met in the middle. "I'll never be a grandmother." She moaned, a highly exaggerated, pitiful sound. "I wonder if I can adopt a grandchild?"

"I'm only twenty seven." Lindsay tipped her diet soda can to her lips and took a long swig. "I'm hardly ancient. I have plenty of time to have babies."

Beverly sighed deeply, staring at Lindsay as if her life had no meaning. She turned for the door. "Don't you have to get back to work? Really, baby girl, you goof off too much."

Lindsay wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I was working until you came in," she said, even though she knew how futile it would be to point out that fact. Beverly only believed what she wanted to believe and she seemed to make up things as she journeyed through her eccentric universe.

The ash on Beverly's cigarette dangled about half an inch long and she walked back to Lindsay's desk searching for an ashtray.

Lindsay slid an empty soda can to her. "Use this."

Beverly knocked her cigarette against the edge of the tin can and the ash fell inside the hole. "Do you think you can spare a little time for your mother later?"

"That depends. What do you have in mind?" Lindsay asked, eyeing her suspiciously. She would not go out on any blind dates with another exterminator, Beverly's plumber or her gynecologist.

"I thought we could go shopping together. Maybe stop for lunch."

"That sounds like fun. Sunday would be better for me though." She mentally catalogued the ton of work on her slate. "I have scads of work to finish this week and I'll be pulling overtime."

"You'll never catch a man sitting behind your desk." Beverly tsk tsked. "Sometimes, I think you're hopeless. You're going to die an old maid if you're not careful."

"If I hear one more word about marriage and grandchildren, I swear I'm going to scream!" Lindsay put her fingers to her temples, feeling another Excedrin headache pounding at her temples. "If you mention it again, I won't go shopping with you Sunday..."

Beverly's mouth opened then clamped shut. She stared at her daughter, assessing her.

"Should I pick you up at noon?"

"Make it one, Linds. I have church in the morning," she said. She stood, smoothing her spandex tights. She dragged on her cigarette holder then blew out a puff of smoke. Lindsay cringed at the bright fuchsia lipstick that clung to the holder. "But Linds..."

"Yes, Mother?" She looked up, curious at the censorial note in her mother's voice.

"Please try to dress up. You look so dowdy in those old faded dungarees. I'm embarrassed to be seen in public with you sometimes. I've no idea where you got your fashion sense from. You'll never catch a man looking so dowdy. But don't worry," Beverly brightened. "I'll help you choose a whole new wardrobe..."

CHAPTER FIVE

Sitting in front of her computer terminal later that evening, Lindsay grew increasingly frustrated with her characters. Slade and Saffron wouldn't cooperate with her tonight--they reminded her of little kids. They always wanted to do the most embarrassing things, spit and spat with each other or act like total wimps. Honestly! What was a writer to do?

When Lindsay had first become a writer she thought it would be easy to write, but she'd soon discovered that characters had a way of taking over their own script--especially on a soap where she had to take the actor's and actresses real personalities into consideration and the story lines of the other writers as they commingled and metamorphosed.

Frustrated out of her gourd, Lindsay highlighted three pages of text and stabbed the delete key viciously, deleting the whole sorry mess. She wouldn't win an Emmy with that terrible drivel.

If Ted DiAngelo won the award for Hollywood Lives again, she couldn't hold her head up at the studio. That was if Bruce didn't put it on the chopping block. She'd end up writing for the Old and the Sleepless. Lindsay cupped her chin in her palm and moaned.

This couldn't be happening. Inspiration elluded her. She'd never had trouble writing either love or action scenes before Jeff joined the cast. Now, she had such writer's block she'd had several sets of the screaming meemies just thinking about writing a love scene for the pair. Every time she had to make Jeff get within a mile of Sabrina, she turned Slade's character into a total jerk. Every time she thought of Elvis, she saw his teeth swimming down the studio floor and Jasmyn leaping on the director's chair because she thought his toupee was a giant rat from hell.

Why not just start writing horror and do away with the heroine? Delicious shivers chased up her spine. She entertained some really nifty thoughts about how she could do away with Saffron. She listed them on her fingers: the super flu, a crazed maniac, a rabid dog, a crazy car with a mind of it's own, a car bomb, or her favorite--poisoned fuchsia lipstick. Heck, maybe she'd just let her mother take Sabrina shopping. She would die of cardiac arrest when Beverly tried to dress her in feathers, plumes and pompoms.

But Ken insisted Saffron's character stay front burner until and unless her ratings dropped. And if her ratings plummeted, Lindsay would never win an Emmy. She grimaced. She probably wouldn't have a job herself either. Like it or not, her future depended on the actresses' success.

Feeling agitated, Lindsay drummed her fingers on her computer desk.

Brutus, her white Persian cat, rubbed against her bare legs and meowed. His fluffy tail brushed the sensitive underside of her knees, tickling her. She giggled and her dark mood lifted a little.

Leaning down, she scooped Brutus into her arms and cradled him to her chest, crooning to him. She scratched behind his ears and his tail waved up and down. He purred like a motorboat.

"So what do I do, boy?" she asked the cat. "How can I write a love scene for them?"

Brutus meowed but did not impart the wisdom of the ages.

"That doesn't help, boy. I need something better," Lindsay murmured. She drummed her fingers lightly on her keyboard. "Why can't I write something like Ghost or Sleepless in Seattle?" she asked the cat. When he snored in her ear she realized she had put him to sleep.

"That's okay, boy. I put most men to sleep." She dropped a kiss on his head and swiveled in her chair, wishing she had a fairy godmother to wave her magic wand and sprinkle never ending inspiration over her.

She stared at the blanket of stars that twinkled like fireflies outside her window. A fingernail moon hung high in the sky before drifting clouds eclipsed its light.

She thumbed through her stack of CDs, seeking the most romantic melodies. Leaning across her desk, she slipped a disc into the open drawer and with the push of a button, Barry Gibb started singing "Nobody gets too much heaven no more..." She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, letting romance and the cool night air flow over her. Her heavy hair felt hot on her neck and she lifted her curls and spread them over the back of her chair so the breeze could cool her flesh.

She'd still been a kid during the disco era, but she'd swooned over John Travolta. She'd wanted to be the girl he held close to his chest on the lighted dance floor under the crystal globe. She'd played her eight track Bee Gees tapes until they'd worn out. When she'd found this CD on sale on the clearance rack, she'd grabbed it and counted her blessings.

Lindsay swiveled back to her desk, feeling her way as if she were a blind man. When her fingers touched the edge of her keyboard, she positioned her fingers on the keypads.

Jostled, Brutus awoke and leapt off her lap. His fluffy tail tickled her legs on his way down.

With her eyes still closed, she started typing, confident enough in her typing skills that she wouldn't open her eyelids to a screen full of gibberish.

Romance flowed through her fingertips and made her toes curl into her thick pile carpeting. She smiled dreamily. The audience would love this scene. She just knew it.

She'd just have to remember to change her name back to Saffron and Jeff's back to Slade before she let anyone else see this script.

**************************************************************

"Lindsay."

Lindsay turned to look behind her. Everything was in shadows as the shooting had begun. Finally, she spotted the source of the voice standing uncertainly a few feet away.

Behind her, Lindsay heard Ken directing Jeff and Sabrina to start their scene. She knew it began where Friday's had ended. Jeff was lowering Sabrina into the bed, preparing to stretch out beside her to ravish her with kisses.

A little devil possessed Lindsay. Two could play the jealousy game. Today, Jeff and Sabrina would not get the better of her. She would not allow them to depress her again. She smiled brightly at Troy.

She didn't have long to wait to put her plan into motion. Troy strode to her side, invading her personal space. Lindsay wondered if he thought he could win that stupid bet. Or maybe he was just being friendly. Anyway, Lindsay told him a funny joke one of her buddies on line had E-mailed her that day. She kept her tones low so she wouldn't disrupt the actors on stage.

Troy leaned his head close to hers and chuckled conspiratorially.

"That's good," he drawled.

"I've got more," Lindsay whispered and smiled. "My friends send me tons of jokes."

"Cut! What do you think you're doing Jeff?" Ken yelled. "Lower Sabrina onto the bed gently. Don't throw her. This is supposed to be romantic. Take it again from the top."

Lindsay felt justifiably exhilarated. Sabrina deserved to be dropped--- on her head preferably. Lindsay moved even closer to Troy and they exchanged jokes, topping each other. Some were quite funny and she laughed spontaneously. She smiled widely, watching Jeff from the corner of her eyes. Troy must have taken her smile as an invitation and moved closer still. His arm brushed hers in the shadowed corner.

Lindsay watched covertly as Jeff lowered Sabrina to the bed successfully this time. When he removed his shirt, acute longing tore at Lindsay. When he lowered himself to the bed, stretching out beside Sabrina, Lindsay turned toward Troy, not wanting to witness the inevitable. She knew how Jeff loved to ad-lib and ham it up. She couldn't watch them share another kiss.

"You're looking real good lately. Have you been working out at the gym?" she whispered to Troy. He bent his head down to hers. Lindsay touched a bulging muscle on his arm. He really must have been working out a lot and she'd never noticed.

Of course, she only had eyes for Jeff.

"I have a casting call for a dance movie coming up," he told her. "I've been living at the dance studio. You know," he drawled, his hot breath on her neck, "you're different today. Sparkling." He smiled at her--the smile that was so famous in all the teen fan magazines. He glanced over her head at the actors. "I thought this scene would be steamy. Andrews is distracted as hell today. He doesn't seem to want to be in bed. Is that how you wrote it?"

Lindsay shook her head and her hair bounced around her waist. "I have no idea what his problem is today. It can't be my script's fault. I thought it was one of my best," she said, making her eyes wide and innocent. "Sabrina usually brings out the tiger in her men."

Lindsay hoped she was the source of Jeff's distraction.

"Cut!" Ken yelled and stomped on stage. He got up in Jeff's face and put his hands on his wide hips. "Where's the passion, Jeffrey? You look like you're on your way to a funeral. You're in bed with a beautiful woman. You're going to make love to her. Act a little more excited for Heaven's sake," he shouted, sounding like a drill sergeant again. "You'll put our audience to sleep."

"Poor guy," Troy snickered. "I could do that scene with my eyes closed."

"I did," Lindsay murmured under her breath. Louder she said, "I'm sure you could. Isn't Sabrina every man's fantasy?" Lindsay laid a manicured hand on his upper arm.

"Not necessarily," Troy breathed. "There are more beautiful women right here on our set." His eyes darkened, his meaning perfectly clear. Ostensibly emboldened by Lindsay's manner, Troy stroked her hair. His fingers separated a strand of it and twirled it around his fingers.

Lindsay heard a loud explosion, like the side of a building imploding and she looked up, startled.

Sabrina was sprawled on the bed, rubbing her bruised behind--and the bed lay broken on the floor at Jeff's feet. Jeff raked his fingers through hair, glistening with perspiration. He scowled, his expression as black as a moonless night.

"Cut!" Ken's exasperation sounded full-blown. "What's wrong Jeff? Why can't we get this right? You have a beautiful, willing woman in your arms. Any of us would kill to be in your shoes."

Lindsay turned towards Jeff slowly. Veiling her eyes, she watched Jeff covertly.

"I'm a bit distracted, that's all." Lindsay saw him dart murderous glances in her direction. She was thrilled to see the effect she had on him at this moment. Forget Troy. He was probably just acting anyway, practicing his charm on her, maybe hoping to win that damned bet.

"Do you think you could gather your senses if we give you a break?" Ken adopted the tone he used with difficult cast members. Lindsay hadn't meant to get Jeff into trouble, just to make him jealous as he had done to her. She felt guilty…..but only a little.

"I'm sure I will." Jeff swung himself out of the bed. His bare chest looked so sexy and Lindsay remembered how it felt against her cheek, slick with pool water.

"Wrap it up for tonight people. We'll meet bright and early tomorrow morning," Ken commanded. "Do whatever it takes to relax Jeff. Get in the right mood."

"I've got to get back to work," Lindsay murmured. When Troy started to protest, Lindsay added, "I'm working on some absolutely fantastic rewrites for your character. But I have to hurry and get it done so it'll be ready for your next scene. You want to win the Emmy for best villain don't you?"

**********************************************************

After a good night's rest, Jeff felt in great form. The rest had worked wonders, rejuvenating his spirit and calming his emotions.

Yesterday when Lindsay had flirted with Troy on the set during his scenes, all he could think of was decking Troy and hauling Lindsay back to his Jacuzzi. He'd struggled to keep one eye on them at all times. Consequently, he had missed cues, blundered lines and looked like a simpleton.

Murderous rage unlike any he'd ever felt before had coursed through his veins. How he'd wanted to pound Troy's face in! Lindsay, he'd wanted to put over his knee---among other things.

Jeff forced himself to stop thinking about Lindsay. But she made it impossible when she sauntered onto the set in her favorite hip hugging jeans and started swinging that hair of hers about her waist.

Today, she had it pulled back in a high ponytail. It bounced seductively behind her, bringing his gaze to her curvaceous little behind. It was small enough to cup in his hands. Didn't she know what effect she had on him?

Ken joined her today, pulling a chair up beside her. She'd tilted her head towards him, talking loquaciously. Why couldn't she talk to him like that? Every encounter they'd had had been tense. Well, almost every one.

"Jeff. 'Bree. Are we ready?" Ken asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Right here, Ken," Jeff presented himself.

Sabrina sidled up to Jeff. She flaunted herself before him, flirting outrageously. His co-star was a beautiful woman, he admitted, but her golden glow paled into insignificance beside Lindsay's natural beauty. Much as she tried, Sabrina sparked no answering desire in him.

When they enacted love scenes, Jeff imagined he held Lindsay in his arms. He wished she were his co-star, not 'Bree.

He'd never had difficulty acting before, no matter what emotions he had been directed to play---he had an excellent range. But now, he only wanted to hold Lindsay Jordan. To kiss her. To cleave unto her. He still hadn't gotten to the bottom of the script similarities to those he knew so well. Every time he got near her, thoughts of everything else flew out the window.

But Lindsay claimed she wanted nothing to do with him.

Once the shooting ended, Jeff had to cool down. Imagining that he held Lindsay in his arms tortured him.

Jeff retrieved his gym bag from his dressing room. A good workout would be just what he needed to cool off and restore his equilibrium. Lifting weights would release the tension in his muscles, but better yet, it would take his mind off the luscious Lindsay. That followed by a freezing cold shower, would help him more than anything else he could think of.

But when Jeff entered the gymnasium, an aerobics class dominated the room. Music blared, driving an insidious, pounding beat into his head. Women of all sizes sweated to the oldies. He thought of Richard Simmons jumping up and down cheerleading.

Well, he'd try to ignore them. He chose a weight bench in the opposite corner of the room. He'd only been there a few minutes when Lindsay bounced in, infiltrating the aerobics dancers. He'd know that cute butt and curly mahogany mane anywhere.

He sighed in ecstasy.

Despite his resolve to ignore her, Jeff's gaze riveted on her. Her allure positively drew him, potent as a cat in heat in that skintight two piece leotard. It covered the most important areas, leaving a strip of bare midriff. At least it hid her buttocks unlike that G-string the Dutch make-up artist had worn. If Lindsay had tried wearing one in public he'd have carried her out bodily and demanded she cover herself. No one but him would see her that way.

Just thinking about it, Jeff realized how possessive he'd become. Lindsay Jordan aroused his jealousy, something alien for him. Until now, he'd thought of himself as progressive but the thought of anyone ogling or touching Lindsay made his blood boil--- almost as much as watching her bounce up and down.

Cellulite didn't dare touch her firm body. Still, her butt wriggled enticingly before him and he felt a boner coming on. Independent and aloof as she pretended to be, Lindsay was completely feminine.

He pumped iron faster to release his frustrations, but it didn't work. He felt like a tom cat sniffing around a female in heat.

Finally, the music faded and the tired dancers slipped into the dressing room…. All except for Lindsay.

She swabbed the perspiration from her forehead with her white towel, patted her face, and then swung her towel over her shoulders, strolling into the sauna as if she didn't have a care in the world.

Lindsay tempted him too much. He had to be near her. He had to touch her. This week of angry silence couldn't continue. He'd make sure of it.

Jeff followed her silently as a panther stalking his prey. Peering through the crack in the door, he saw Lindsay laying back on the bench, her heavy black eyelashes fanned on her cheeks like black mantilla lace.

No one else was in the sauna.

Stealthily, Jeff slipped through the door, careful not to make a sound. Lindsay's eyes fluttered but didn't open.

He crawled to the bench above her.

She didn't seem to hear him. So much to the good.

He allowed his gaze to languish over the beautiful woman below him. Rich mahogany hair without even a trace of red, cascaded behind her like a dark cloud. Her breasts rose and fell slowly, inches from his hands. Lush lashes formed half crescents over her tanned cheeks. His gaze fell on the two little freckles next to her mouth and her enchanting dimple.

Soft skin stretched firmly over her, begging to be caressed. Her mouth, made to plunder with kisses, beckoned him. She had the mouth of a temptress. Helen of Troy couldn't have possessed such luscious lips. Her perfume mixed with perspiration intoxicated him and made his head spin.

Unable to resist, Jeff leaned forward to capture them beneath his own aching lips. He longed to taste her. She looked so serene, so beautiful. She had been made for him to kiss. Jeff lowered his arm placing a hand on Lindsay's bench. His arm braced him from falling but also trapped her.

When his lips brushed hers, Lindsay's eyes flew opened, alarmed, like a skittish deer.

"What do you think you're doing?" Lindsay cried. She pushed at his chest.

"Kissing you," Jeff said. Gently, he lowered himself, gathering her into his arms. She felt so soft and so tiny. She evoked his protective instincts, driving all his tenderness and passion to the surface.

"I only write your lines," Lindsay said. "I don't help you practice." She struggled and looked at him as if he were crazy.

Jeff wanted to caress her, to explore her most secret places. One sip had not quenched his thirst, but rather it had whetted his desire. He doubted he could ever drink his fill of her.

Suddenly the angel in his arms became a wildcat. It took all his strength not to drop her.

"Let me go!" Lindsay demanded, her eyes wide, darker than the deep forest.

"I can't," Jeff said, struggling to speak.

"You mean you won't," she accused, her voice very low and seductive.

"I can't. Not unless you want to fall flat on your cute little derriere," Jeff taunted.

A smile played at the corner of her lips. He could see she fought to conceal that smile, but she was losing the struggle.

Lindsay looked magnificent in a rage. Her eyes flashed emerald fire, her skin glowed, her breasts heaved against his chest, exciting him beyond endurance. She tried to move away and almost rolled off the bench.

He caught her, lowering his lips to her ear. He nibbled her ear lobe, Lindsay's struggles ceased. A shudder coursed through her body.

"O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! And though she be but little, she is fierce..." Jeff quoted Shakespeare, rasping in the hot sauna.

Jeff enjoyed the power he had over her. No matter what she said or what she thought, Lindsay couldn't resist his touch. Something magical bound them together, something that came once in a lifetime if one was lucky. He wouldn't let her destroy the special feelings between them. He never wanted to stop feeling this way.

She arched against him, running her fingers through his hair.

His desire demanded release. It wouldn't wait for a slow seduction. His tongue plunged into her mouth, communicating his heightened desire. He plundered her lips, molding his to them, demanding a passionate response.

Jeff was not disappointed. Lindsay gave herself to him, opening her mouth wide, meeting his tongue with hers in a timeless lover's duel. Bold fingers tangled in his hair, holding his head to hers. One hand trailed down his back, leaving a delicious trail of fire everywhere she touched.

Waves of pleasure coursed through him. Lindsay's lips drove him to a frenzy. This exquisite woman was made him as he was made for her. Like Juliet was made for Romeo.

Jeff trailed his lips down the delicate arch of her jaw to her throat.

Lindsay arched her spine, throwing her head back in pleasure. Her tumbling curls cascaded over Jeff's arms, tickling his legs. Lush lashes brushed her cheeks, lending an ethereal glow to her face.

He dipped his head lower.

The door cracked open and Jeff lifted his head.

Lindsay did too, for her head turned sharply and crimson stole up her cheeks. She looked adorable.

Jeff lifted Lindsay from him gently, loathe to release her. She smiled at him tenderly, and then lowered her eyes demurely, causing his heart to flip-flop.

She looked so slim and delicate when she climbed down the steps gracefully. Perspiration glistened like diamond dust on her slick skin.

She looked acutely embarrassed to be caught here with him.

When Jeff pushed the door open, a middle-aged matron wearing a leopard leotard stood aside. Her eyes assessed him from top to bottom.

"You don't have to leave, Dearie," the woman smiled. "I like company."

Lindsay's blush darkened and she veiled her eyes.

Seeing this, the woman told her, "Don't be embarrassed, Dearie. Every actor who's ever worked here has been in this room one time or another."

Lindsay pushed past the woman without a word.

"Excuse me," Jeff flashed a cardboard smile at the woman. He extricated himself from her with great difficulty, damning himself for allowing Lindsay to escape. Fate was against him. He'd finally made some progress with her and this had to happen. Once she had time away from him to think, who knew what she'd conclude? What she'd do?

The woman chuckled, "Did it get too hot for you, Dearie?" Her laughter followed him mockingly.

CHAPTER SIX

Lindsay finally admitted to herself that she'd fallen totally, irrevocably in love with Jeff Andrews--but she'd be darned if she'd tell him of her discovery.

At first she'd thought his attraction lay solely in his resemblance to Drew Roberts. But his looks were deceiving. Beyond his charm, Jeff wasn't at all like Drew Roberts. He possessed a devilish sense of humor embodied in his choice of pet--a schizophrenic bird named King Lear who believed himself to be Elton John and Jimmy Cagney.

And Jeff's determination to get what he wanted would challenge the saints. His intellect and wit were sharper than anyone she'd ever met. And he was a damn fine actor... Shakespeare would drool to get him on a stage.

Therein lay the problem. Actors had the disconcerting tendency to act off stage as well as on stage. They began to believe they loomed bigger than life and they looked at people as props. Emotions became merely words in the script directions to them…or something to ad-lib for higher ratings.

Lindsay shuddered with fear. Could she go through this again? Gary had taught her how shallow actors could be and how deceiving. Even though the actual scenarios were nothing alike, the symptoms were the same. She had a sickening feeling in her stomach that told her being in love with an actor would be akin to radiation poisoning...

Forewarned was forearmed. She should hightail it while she still could, before she allowed Jeff Andrews to shatter her heart. This time, she might not be able to pick up the pieces.

This was absurd! She'd barely known Jeff for a month. In that time, he'd tricked her, seduced her--and captured her heart. They rarely spoke civilly when they spoke at all. It seemed they always had to one up one another. Their relationship, if that's what it could be called, was based purely on sexual desire. Lindsay wanted far more than that from a man. How could a solid, lasting relationship be built on such a flimsy foundation? That's assuming he even wanted a lasting relationship with 2.3 kids and a Mommie van. But she couldn't deny his potent charm or how ill-equipped she seemed to be to fight it.

Before she knew it, Lindsay turned her Lamborgini north onto Jeff's street, cursing herself for her stupidity. She had to see if she'd dropped her important diskette out of her purse somewhere in his house. She didn't want to rewrite the entire scene for Troy, Jasmyn and Elvis. Why hadn't she just uploaded the scene to Globalserv? From now on she'd do exactly that and not mess with toting diskettes back and forth.

She whipped her car into Jeff's drive and hesitated. Was the diskette worth another duel with the devil? It might not even be here or if it had been, his cleaning lady might have thrown it out.

Most of the house lights were muted. Strands of white Christmas lights twinkled merrily around several palm trees.

She had just about decided to back out the drive and forget the diskette when Jeff opened the front door and sauntered outside to her car. He laid a hand on her door and grinned at her. "Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

"I knew I shouldn't have come here," Lindsay mumbled under her breath. Louder she said, "I lost something the other night. I wanted to see if I left it here." His white shirt was unbuttoned and fell open, exposing the curly, dark hairs on his swarthy chest. She lowered her eyelashes and glanced at him covertly.

Jeff opened her car door and held his hand out to her. "What did you lose? I didn't find anything."

"I should've called first," Lindsay murmured. She ignored his hand. "You probably have company."

"No company." He leaned closer, grasped her hand and hauled her out of the car, propelled her to the house. "I'm just hanging out with King Lear."

In the distance, she heard King Lear singing "Crocodile rock. Me and Suzie had so much fun...Bennie and the Rocket man..."

Lindsay chuckled despite her tension.

The scent of jasmine mingled with Jeff's spicy aftershave and drifted to her on the night breeze. She sniffed appreciatively.

"I-I lost an important diskette. There's a scene for Monday's shoot on it. If I don't find it, I'll be working all weekend."

"Tsk. Tsk. We can't have that, can we?" he murmured against her ear. He held the door for her to enter first.

Lindsay shook her head. She paused on the threshold, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. It wasn’t safe in his lair.

"What d'ya hear? What d'ya say?" King Lear shrilled. "Squawk!" He flapped his wings and jumped down from his trapeze. Leathery talons curled around the bars of his cage and he leaned his head sideways, regarding her with his little beady eyes. "Make yourself at home dish." He imitated Jimmy Cagney so perfectly it was eerie.

"I see you haven't started playing opera for him yet." She added with a slow smile, "or Secrets."

"Heaven forbid." Jeff laughed and stood in front of her. "He does a much better Jimmy Cagney than Elton John."

"I'll be sure to have Ken audition him if we ever do a gangster scene."

Jeff chuckled. "Where do you think you lost the diskette?"

"It was in my purse. I've looked just about everywhere else but here." She felt acutely aware of Jeff's presence and wished he'd button his shirt so she could breathe normally. He looked like the swashbuckling Douglas Fairbanks Sr. in The Thief of Bagdad in this attire--- a long shiny scabbard and a pasted on mustache and he'd be set for the part.

"Where did you have your purse?" He leaned against the wall and regarded her seriously.

"Don't be such an angel," King Lear said, imitating Cagney again. "This ain't no penny ante reform wave. Squawk."

"You've really got to do something about your bird." She eyed the bird warily, then slid a sideways glance to the bird’s owner. "Someone's going to think you're running a speak easy in here if they don't know you."

"It wouldn't be the first time old Lear's gotten us in trouble." Jeff chuckled and waved off her concern.

"What d'ya hear? What d'ya say?" King Lear squawked and flapped his tattered wings.

"I had my purse on the couch I think." She walked around, looking behind furniture.

"Maybe it fell in the cushions? I always drop my keys behind the cushions." He lifted up a cushion and found change instead, which he pocketed. He lifted up the second cushion and hooted. "Pay dirt! Is this what you're looking for?"

She spun on her heel and smiled. He held a diskette in the air between his fingers.

"I think that's the guilty party." She walked to the couch, took it from him and turned it over in her hands. "This is mine all right. Thank you."

"Let's celebrate." He grasped her hand and pulled her behind him to the kitchen.

She pulled back. "It's just a little diskette. I really have to be going."

"And leave me here alone with King Lear? He's about to drive me nuts." He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb and gazed into her eyes. "Just one glass of wine." His voice was husky, sending warning sirens blaring in her head.

"You'd better watch out for that dame," King Lear warned.

Jeff and Lindsay burst out laughing.

"See what I mean?" he asked.

"I don't think I'd better stay. I-I have a lot of work to get done." She patted her purse, where she'd stuck her diskette.

"You said it was on the diskette. What's the matter? Are you scared to be alone with me?" He backed her against the wall. His arm shot out and he imprisoned her in a corner.

King Lear started singing, "Rocket man... yellow brick road..."

She pointed in the general direction of the bird in the other room. "I-I'm not alone with you. K-King Lear is here," She cursed herself for letting her voice wobble and ruin her brave assertion.

"Prove it." His breath fanned her cheeks. "Stay and have a drink with me Luscious Lindsay."

He'd already won her heart and body, what more did he want? Her scalp for his collection? Why couldn't he leave well enough alone? Jeffrey Andrews was too dangerous.

"We need to talk." Sultry and seductive, his voice lapped over her like the ocean surf, igniting flames inside her.

"I-I have w-work to do if we want to win an Emmy..."

"Damn the Emmy! I'm sick and tired of hearing about that blasted award. You can leave it for one night and join me."

"I really can't."

Her gaze was drawn to his strong chest. Involuntary shivers coursed along her spine as she remembered how it had felt against her in his Jacuzzi. Deliberately, she pushed the errant thoughts to the back of her mind.

"What's going on Lindsay? One minute you blow hot, the next cold. You flirted with my bird. I don't understand."

"I left my diskette here the other night and I came to get it back. There's nothing to understand."

"I don't believe that for a second." His voice was just too husky to be legal. He traced her jaw with the tip of his finger. Shivers chased up her spine. "The way you responded to me told me differently."

"You caught me when I was vulnerable. That wasn't fair."

"You react that way to every man in the sauna?" Mischief danced in his dark eyes and he quirked an eyebrow.

"No! Of course I don't act that way! But..."

"You only react that way to me." His breathing became labored. He traced the line of her face from her high cheekbone to the bottom of her chin with the tip of his forefinger. "Admit that you feel something special for me--that you can't resist me either."

"I'll do no such thing." Fury blazed within her. "You seduced me and now you think you own me? What makes you think it was anything special to me?"

"Other than the fact that you aren't the kind of woman to have a casual fling, maybe I got the idea from the way you tremble when I touch you."

Imprisoning hands clamped on her shoulders. His lips brushed hers in a light caress then hardened, crushing hers, demanding more.

She tried to remain distant, not wanting to give into his charm. He became more insistent, angered by her refusal to respond to him.

Abruptly, he changed tactics. Instead of demanding her response, he teased her with light kisses. He trailed his lips from her lips to her earlobe. His teeth caught the sensitive lobe and nibbled. His tongue dipped inside, bathing her ear canal. One hand stroked her arm, then entwined in her hair.

This assault was more than she could withstand. Her entire being seared in answering response. Tingling sensations shot through her.

Her hands lifted to Jeff's bared chest. They fanned over it, reveling in its strength and warmth. She could feel his heart pound against her like the tide rolling into shore. Her fingers curled in his coiling hair, massaging him.

His arms encircled her waist. His lips moved surely, capturing hers in a blazing assault. One hand trailed lightly up her back. His fingers entwined themselves in her hair and he pushed her head closer to his, ensuring she could not turn her face away from him.

She didn't want to anymore. Every fiber of her being wanted intimate contact with him. Lindsay's body dominated her reason. It controlled her.

He released her swollen lips.

"I should never let you out of my arms, never give you time to think." His voice shook with passion.

Her eyelids fluttered open and stared into eyes so ebony black she thought she'd drown.

He dipped his head again and trailed hot kisses down her throat to the V of her blouse. Impatient, he undid the hindering buttons. His hand slid inside to caress a swollen breast. The palm of his hand cupped it. His thumb brushed over the tautening peak.

A moan escaped her throat.

He pushed aside the cloth, giving his tongue more room to explore. It dipped and delved, licked and tasted the valley of her breasts. Then he became more daring. His tongue flicked under the lace of her bra, seeking her most sensitive area.

She writhed uncontrollably in his arms. Her hands held his head dragging it closer, ruffling his thick hair.

Weak with desire, it became difficult to stand. Her knees buckled and she began to slump against him.

Strong arms slipped beneath Lindsay's knees and back, lifting her against his heart. His gaze sought hers, blazing passionately.

Lost in desire, she buried her face into his shoulder.

As he moved backwards, she vaguely wondered what he was doing through the haze of her muddled thoughts. In a matter of moments, however, he bent, retrieving a bottle of wine from the kitchen counter with the hand that held her legs. Wordlessly, she grabbed two glasses, twirling the delicate stems in her hands.

Lithely, he carried her to his bedroom. In three long strides, he towered over his bed. Bending again, he deposited the bottle on the nightstand.

Then he lowered her to the bed, taking the glasses from her, stretching his long frame beside her. "We're alone," he whispered in her ear and gathered her into his arms. He buried his face in her neck, sucking on the soft flesh.

Coherent thought threatened to elude her, but she struggled to retain some reasoning ability.

"We can't do this...," she protested against his lips.

"You worry too much."

Deftly, his hand reached behind her back. His fingers released the snap on her bra too easily. It was obvious that he had vast experience in this task.

Lifting her gently, Jeff pulled her blouse off, flinging it across the room. It landed in a heap on the floor. Next, her bra sailed through the air just as Elvis's girdle had.

She reached for him. Her fingers fumbled with his slacks zipper, finding it difficult to accomplish their task when Jeff's fingers brushed against her breast.

He uttered an oath. Impatiently, he took off his own shirt. It ended up a few feet away from her clothing.

His broad chest fascinated her. She reached out, touching its warmth. It felt hard yet oddly soft simultaneously. His hair curled around his masculine nipples, enticing Lindsay. She moved her fingers to play with it, and then circled one finger around the aureole. She felt him shudder.

She too shuddered under his assault on her senses. His hands cupped her breasts, lifting them gently. Both his thumbs stroked her nipples, grazing the soft skin on either side.

Sighing in ecstasy, she dropped her head back, arching her neck. Her heavy hair caressed her bare back, tickling it softly.

"You have the most gorgeous hair I've ever seen." He lifted one hand, trailing light fingers along her neck to the base of her hair. His fingers raked through her tresses to the ends near her bottom. Shivers coursed through her when he touched her spine.

Placing his hand over the small of her back, he drew her towards him inextricably as he leaned towards her.

Tender lips captured hers. She parted her lips invitingly, welcoming him. Instead of plunging his tongue inside her mouth, he drew her bottom lip inside his mouth, nibbling it. Then his arm tightened around her waist, crushing her breasts against his chest. She gasped as exquisite sensations tingled through her chest down to the core of her desire. His chest hair felt so soft against her bare flesh.

She lifted her arm, coiling it behind his neck. With her other hand she stroked the pectoral muscles in his shoulders, tracing its lines, reveling in his strength.

Slow and easy, his weight pushed her back into the bed molding her to him. His tongue delved into her mouth, seeking hers. He drank of her thirstily. Their kiss grew deeper, each losing themselves in each other.

She thrilled as he rubbed against her, exciting her, destroying every rational thought. She could feel his desire bulging against her through her jeans, igniting delicious flames inside her and the longing to feel him more intimately… to be one with this man again.

Shifting his weight slightly off her, his hand moved to the waist of her jeans. His fingers fumbled, unable to open it as easily as he had her bra.

"I hate belts!" he muttered against her lips, still trying to unfasten her buckle.

Despite herself, she smiled at his frustration. She lowered her hand to assist him. She was amazed at how fast Jeff disposed of her jeans, then her lacy panties. When she had lost her shoes, she couldn't recall. She'd probably pushed them off herself when she'd first lain upon the bed.

He removed his jeans with equal fervor and tossed them across the room. They landed in a potted tree.

When the naked proof of his desire throbbed against her, she trembled. She could feel its pulse as blood raced through the shaft, making it strong and firm. Its heat seeped into her as it rubbed against her thighs, barely touching her feminine core.

He grasped her hand, dragging it down to the focus of her attention. He molded her fingers around it, then moaned as she tightened her grip. A growl rumbled in his chest as his hand moved over her feminine triangle. He stroked it lightly at first, sending shivers through her.

Their desire mounted and his hand massaged the area. Shivers turned to flames. Her body ground against his in a frantic rhythm and he increased his movements.

He pulled back. "I have to get something," he murmured. His eyes looked black as coals.

Leaning back against his pillows, her hair spilled about her like a dark cloud. She watched him walk to the medicine chest in his bathroom and saw him pull out a box of condoms. He tore the foil wrapper with his teeth and let it flutter to the floor.

He sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at her. He held the condom out to her and whispered, "Help me put it on."

She took it from his outstretched hand and stared at it.

He stretched out on his back beside her, his shaft waving like a flag. "Go ahead," he murmured. He traced her budding nipple with his fingertip and she shivered deliciously.

She fumbled to fit the latex cover over his heated skin and he writhed in ecstasy in her hands.

"Your hands feel so good," he murmured huskily and pulled her against his chest. He delved his tongue inside her mouth and crushed her breasts against him.

They fit together perfectly. The hair on his chest and thighs tickled her and she wriggled against him.

Thoroughly aroused, Lindsay lifted her hips, pulling his shaft toward her. He let her guide him inside and they dueled in the ancient rhythm of love. His hands explored her heated flesh, arousing her to the brink of ecstasy.

"You'd better watch out for that dame!" King Lear shrieked from the living room.

Lindsay laughed against his lips and he drove into her deeper until she shrieked in delight.

A thousand stars exploded deep in her belly. She raked his back with her fingernails. She wrapped her legs behind his back and clung for dear life.

Perspiration beaded their bodies, making their skin slick. His thick, black hair coiled and curled on his chest, tickling her bare nipples. He dipped his head and suckled a pert nipple. His motions became frenzied and he moved faster and faster.

Waves of pure pleasure washed over her again from the tips of her curling toes to the top of her head and she writhed beneath him.

His tongue delved into her mouth and his lips clamped more securely over hers drinking deeply of her.

Floating on a cloud of bliss, high over ordinary mortals, she dug her fingers into his shoulders lest she should fall from her heavenly perch.

When he lifted his lips, his breath felt raspy against her cheek. His gaze lifted to hers, exploring the depths of her soul. Instead of rolling off her, Jeff started moving against her again, languorously. He brought her to the brink of bliss several times, then pulled back to extend their pleasure, driving her completely, totally insane.

Her pleasure built to a slow crescendo and they climaxed together. They trembled rapturously in each other's arms as if they held onto a dream.

He rolled off her. "Oh, oh." He struggled to sit up.

"Is something wrong?" She stared at him dreamily.

"Might be." His eyes narrowed. "The condom broke."

"It broke?" She gasped. "It couldn't break."

"This one did." A deep scowl marred his perfect features. "Are you taking any form of birth control?" He pushed the broken latex off his shaft and flung it into his trash can, cursing under his breath.

"No-o-o-o." She shuddered. "I haven’t had any need." Till now. The implications hit her like a brick. This couldn't be happening. It must be a nightmare from which she would awake, alone and cold with only Brutus curled up beside her.

He drew her to his chest, holding her in the crook of his arm. His other hand brought the sheet over them and he stroked her hair. "It'll be okay," he murmured against her cheek. "Maybe it broke after we were finished."

She buried her face in the space between his shoulder and neck. She brushed her lips against his throat. Her hand massaged his chest languorously. His heartbeat slowed against her ear. His breathing returned to a steady, droning rhythm.

He lifted her slightly away from him and he leaned towards the nightstand. "Ready for a glass of wine?"

"No-o-o-o." She nodded her head. "I don't want any."

"Mind if I have a glass? I think I need something." He raked his fingers through his already mussed hair. He would’ve looked adorable had she not been so distressed.

He grasped the bottle and struggled to pop the cork. Despite the weight on her heart, she tried to suppress a smile that tugged at the corners of her lips as his frustration mounted. "As obstinate as this wine is you'd think it was some expensive, rare year," he grated through clenched teeth.

Mirth bubbled, refusing to be restrained. When she laughed, a warm sultry tinkle escaped her lips. He ignored the mocking tones as his struggle took on the overtones of a personal vendetta.

"Why don't you let me try to open it?" She held out her hand for the bottle.

Turning slightly, he glared at her. "I can get it. Some little bottle is not going to get the best of me." She laughed harder as his features contorted and the muscles in his shoulders knotted as he pulled and twisted with all his might.

"It looks as if a little bottle has already gotten the best of you. Are you trying to let the genie out? The one who's been trapped for ten thousand years and would grant you any three wishes you desire?" she murmured huskily, chuckling….first on her list would be for stronger condoms.

"Stop that! I'm trying to be romantic." He half teased her, still through gritted teeth. Suddenly, the cork popped open and ricocheted across the room. Wine spewed everywhere. She ducked beneath the sheets, trying to avoid the shower that drenched her and Jeff.

Laughing, he poured wine into his glass on the nightstand with his usual dramatic flare. He lifted his glass in a toast. "Say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat?"

Laughter danced in his eyes but faded as he watched Lindsay pull herself into a sitting position with the wet sheet wrapped securely around her. His gaze fairly burned through the sheet and Lindsay realized he could see her dusky nipples through the thin, wet material.

"Your heart's really on stage with Shakespeare, isn't it?" Lindsay asked. "How'd you wind up on a soap?"

"I got tired of being a gypsy. I wanted to settle down in one place." His unfathomable gaze locked with hers. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Downing his wine swiftly, he set his glass on the nightstand. He reached out to stroke her hair as his breath fanned her cheek.

"There's something special about you... I can't stop touching you."

"I've noticed." She smiled dreamily. Tilting her head, she looked at him.

"How could you not? No other woman has had such an effect on me, Luscious Lindsay. You do crazy things to me."

"As you do to me." Her voice was so low, it was barely discernible. Her heart brimmed with a mixture of love and apprehension.

He lifted her chin with firm fingers. Tenderly, he brushed her lips then dropped a kiss on the crown of her head and drew her closer against his chest. "Everything will be fine. Don't worry, Linds. I'll take care of you."

She snuggled into his warmth, intensely aware of his naked body touching hers. She felt so complete in his embrace but was this feeling deceptive? Her heart had made a horrible mistake in loving Gary. Back then, however, she'd been less experienced, thus she'd not recognized the warning signals that had flashed before her. She'd believed his lies, accepted his excuses, and allowed him to walk all over her just because her heart had eclipsed her reasoning capabilities.

She wanted to be able to trust Jeff, to give herself to him without reservation. How she would love to relax and just enjoy their time together without tension or the expectation of some ulterior motive or some hidden agenda.

Should she judge Jeff by Gary? Was it really fair? Did it even prove a darn thing anyway? It was hard not to compare them, there were so many similarities. First Gary and later Jeff were the stars of Secrets. Both possessed a roguish charm. Both were handsome devils. Sabrina had co-starred with both men and she wanted them.

Were these only superficial similarities or should she look on them as warning signs and avoid the danger?

Gary hadn't had a ditzy, endearing bird like Jeff, nor had he owned a tropical paradise in his back yard, nor had he indulged her Chinese craving so readily as Jeff. He seemed so loving. His head seemed to be secure on his shoulders. He seemed so unlike any other actor, any other man she'd ever met.

She had already fallen in love with Jeff. Thus the point was mute. She sighed deeply. The emotions he evoked in her were a hundred times stronger than anything she'd felt for Gary. Just one glance from this man’s molten gaze turned her limbs to water. His presence across a room did more to disrupt her senses than Gary's steamiest kiss had been able to do to her.

She began to wonder if what she'd felt for Gary had even been love. She began to expect it might have been infatuation. She had been a naive twenty-four year old. That was hard to believe in this day and age, but it had been so. She had gotten through college relatively unscathed, preferring to spend the bulk of her time writing and hanging out with the intellectual types whose minds were in the clouds rather than in the ditches.

But Gary had given her a crash course in love and deception. Every ideal she'd possessed, he'd twisted to his advantage. He'd not only made a mockery of her but of love. He'd kept so many secrets.

Could Jeff do the same thing? What type of secrets did he have? Did he have some hidden agenda? She prayed not, nor did she truly think he would.

She had to find out.

"Why did you lie to me?" She trailed a finger along his chest, letting her finger nail graze.

His eyes darkened again. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, sucking her fingertips gently.

Her heart lurched.

"I told you. The thought of you with another man drove me crazy."

"You don't look like the possessive type." Why was he doing this to her? She'd never realized how sensual fingers could be. His assault on her senses drugged her, threatening to make her forget her purpose.

"I'm not usually. But you affect me as no one ever has."

He buried his face in her hair, his lips nuzzling her earlobe, driving her insane. One hand slid around her breast, tracing its firmness, moving slowly toward the peak.

"Does this feel good?"

She chuckled nervously. She felt loathe to voice her true feelings, not ready to trust fully.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"You're an enigma, Luscious Lindsay. When I touch you, you melt in my arms. But, at others, you're as untamed as a wildcat. You act as if you can't stand the sight of me."

"Do you get that impression right now?" She snuggled up to him.

His knuckles grazed over her taut nipple. She shuddered pleasurably and traced a circle around his masculine nipple with her fingertip. When he shivered against her, she smiled smugly at her own power to evoke this response from him.

"No. Not right now," he whispered. He lowered his lips to hers. They felt soft and warm but undemanding.

Her arm stole around his neck, dragging him closer. The sound of her heart hammering against her ribs filled her ears just as he filled her senses.

"Well, well. I never thought I'd see the day!" Troy drawled. He whistled, long and slow.

Lindsay froze. "What is he doing here?"

Beneath her hands, Jeff's muscles tensed.

She pushed him away, grabbing the sheet around her neck as quickly as she could, hiding beneath its folds.

Beside her, Jeff sat erect, immediately defensive. The set of his jaw shifted, looking imminently dangerous. His eyes narrowed as they shot warnings to the intruder.

She followed his gaze.

"Leave us alone, Troy," Jeff grumbled.

Choosing to ignore Jeff's dangerous tones, Troy ambled to a potted tree where Lindsay's jeans and undies hung. He stooped, picking up Lindsay's bra with one finger. It dangled tauntingly. "I came to pick up the film you said I should get tonight. You didn't answer the door... so I let myself in." He smiled. "I guess you were busy."

Lindsay closed her eyes, sinking further into her pillows trying to shut out Troy's mocking gaze. What a nightmare!

"You win the bet Andrews." Troy laughed. "And you said you didn't have a chance."

Lindsay’s eyelids flew open and she stared first at Troy, then Jeff, with deep accusation and hurt.

Troy sauntered closer to the bed. He stared right at her and winked. "You look very fetching tonight, Linds."

"Leave her alone, Troy," Jeff growled. It started as a rumble deep in his chest. He lifted his hand and ruffled his hair. "Get out of here."

"Bet! You were in on that lousy bet? I should have kn..."

"I can see you didn't leave her alone." Troy chuckled. His lifted an eyebrow lasciviously. "I wish I had brought my camera tonight."

"I'm warning you Troy," Jeff threatened, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Lindsay yanked the sheet away from Jeff. She jumped out of the bed, wrapping the sheet around her in one fluid motion as modestly as possible. Jeff's hand shot out and she ducked. Her toe tangled in the sheet and she stumbled but caught herself. Hitching up the sheets, she wrapped and tied it like a toga while she darted for the door. Spying her panties hanging on a lampshade, she grabbed them on her way out.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Jeff rise in all his naked glory. He sprinted in her direction, trying to catch up to her. When he passed his jeans hanging on a tree, he yanked them off, knocking over the lamp, which clanged to the floor.

"Lindsay wait! Let me explain!" Jeff yelled.

She wasn't in any mood to listen to lame lies and explanations.

One of Jeff's feet caught in the tight leg of his jeans and he pitched forward, landing on his right shoulder.

Troy laughed maniacally and it sounded like someone had cranked up the canned response for a sitcom.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lindsay saw him catch himself, basically unhurt. This gave her the lead-time she needed to escape while he struggled to untangle himself from his twisted jeans.

She grabbed her purse from the couch.

King Lear leered, "What d'ya hear? What d'ya say baby?"

"Oh shut up, would you? Ooh, go listen to some opera, would ya?" she said to the bird.

"We gotta make a break for it." King Lear screeched. He tossed birdseed out of his cage.

"You got that right!" She couldn’t agree more. Time was precious. Seconds counted. She took three and slid into her panties.

Running as if hot stones scorched her bare feet, she fled to her car. She opened the zipper of her purse and half the contents of her purse spilled to Jeff's driveway. She had to backtrack a couple of steps to retrieve her wallet and didn't notice that her license lay another few feet away on the lawn. Keys jingled in the bottom of her purse and she fumbled around inside before she found them.

The little red sports car had never looked more welcoming. Like Noah's Ark, it would be her savior and take her to safe respite. With her keys in her hand, she searched for the right one. The evening breeze whipped her toga about her legs and tried to blow up her skirts. Shivers raced down her spine. Her hair whipped in her face. Under her breath, she cursed valuable time lost.

"How dare you make a fool of me, Jeffrey Andrews!" she muttered under her breath. An errant tear spilled from her eye and trickled down her cheek. "I should've known I couldn't trust an actor," she mumbled.

She pushed her key in the lock. Finally, something didn't fight her and it opened without a hitch. She plopped in her seat and slammed the door. In her agitated state, she didn't notice that her toga caught in the bottom of the door.

The Lamborgini purred to life and she revved it in her haste. What a glorious, wonderful sound.

"Lindsay wait!" Jeff called after her. Startled, she glanced over her shoulder and saw him running out of the house in his blue jeans. He struggled to push his arm into his shirt while he ran. "Don't leave!"

Waves of anger crashed over her. They seethed and boiled, clouding her judgment.

Revving her car again, she released the brake. She stomped on the gas pedal and squealed her car out of his drive.

She turned the car south and inhaled deeply. "That was a close escape. Why would he do that to me?" she repeated, looking at the road, but not really looking at the road. Her mind was back in Jeff's house, reliving that horrible, humiliating scene.

The Emergency Broadcast System should post a warning to all women--run, do not walk away from all actors.

Her foot got heavier and heavier on the accelerator and she didn't notice. Officially, her lights were on but nobody was home. When a car flashed its lights at her, she realized she hadn't turned hers on, then wished she hadn't

"Oh no!" An animal as large as a deer loomed in her headlamps, a shadowy figure barely discernible under the half moon and dense tree coverage. She cut her steering wheel hard to the right and stomped on her brakes that screeched in protest like a choir of Hell's Angels practicing a funeral march.

Her life flashed before her eyes and she saw a confusing mixture of Elvis' teeth swimming down set two, her mother trying to dress her in sequins and plumes and Jeff kissing her until her lips were swollen. She could forget all hope of winning an Emmy now...

The little red car swerved to the right and her head rammed into her steering wheel hard enough to daze her but not hard enough to knock her out. She felt the contents of her dinner rumble in her stomach.

The Lamborgini seemed to spin forever, like one of those octopus rides at the amusement park that hung in the air and swung round and round. If one didn't hang on tightly enough, they just might fall out to their death. Sometimes, one even threw up all over anybody foolish enough to stand underneath the churning ride.

The car stopped abruptly when it skidded into a car parked on the side of the road and she felt rather than heard the whining crunch of metal on metal.

She didn't have a mere Excedrin headache. Her head felt ready to blow like a volcano. How long she sat in a daze she didn't know. Everything seemed one giant blur, like a foggy morning in San Francisco. Her head pounded and she lifted her fingers to her forehead where she felt a knot the size of an Easter egg puffing out. When she touched it with her fingertip, it throbbed unbearably and she winced in pain.

"Oh no!" She moaned and struggled to open the door with shaking fingers. It looked undamaged, but the metal had bent and fought against her as if it had a mind of its own. When she tried to twist around, thinking she could kick it open with her foot, she discovered her sheet caught in the door, making the sheet wrap around her like one of those Chinese finger pulls. The harder she pulled to get out of it, the tighter it wrapped about her.

She was still struggling with the door when a police siren whirled towards her and stopped by her car. "Oh no." Closing her eyes, she hoped the image would disappear when she opened them.

When she opened one eye and peered out her window, a lady cop was shining a flashlight in her window, blinding her. "Are you all right?" The woman cupped her hands around her mouth when she yelled.

Lindsay tried to roll her window down but it was jammed too. "The door won't work." She lifted her voice, hoping the woman could hear her. "I'm trapped in here." Lindsay struggled with the door again, to no avail. She saw the woman's name tag which read Officer Thompson.

"Just stay right there ma'am. We'll get you out," Officer Thompson said loudly but not unkindly. The policewoman waved to somebody else but didn't move from Lindsay's side. "Help me open this door Burt. It's jammed. Bring the tire iron."

A man in blue opened the trunk of the police car and dug around inside for a moment. He brought out a black tire iron and sauntered to Lindsay's car.

Burt leaned over and peered into Lindsay's window with his flashlight. "Move back ma'am and cover your eyes."

Lindsay leaned as far as the sheet permitted, which wasn't far. She turned her head away and covered her eyes with her hand.

She heard the officers wedge the tire iron into the door, a loud shriek like long fingernails down a black board and she winced, thinking how her pretty paint job would be ruined. Then she laughed at herself, for the whole car was probably completely ruined. One more scratch wouldn't make a bit of difference.

Most importantly she was alive and whole. Who cared about a couple of cars? Let her insurance agent worry about that. She could swear she paid him in pure platinum.

Metal groaned like a car being smashed in a junk yard and the door popped open. The sheet yanked fiercely and she caught it just in time to prevent acute embarrassment.

"You can come out now, ma'am," Burt told her. He leaned inside the car and held out a hand.

She curled still shaky fingers around it, accepting the help. She felt acutely conscious of her scant attire but nothing could be done about that now. She pulled the sheet closer to her, trying to blend in with the dark of night.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Burt had an odd glint in his eye and she saw him glance at his partner with a knowing look. Her heart sank. What now?

"Can we see your license, ma'am?" Officer Thompson asked.

"Sure." Lindsay pointed towards her car. "It's--it's in my wallet. I'll get it out."

"I'll get it for you." Officer Thompson walked back to Lindsay's twisted metal sculpture that used to be her Lamborgini and sat on the seat. She leaned over and pulled out Lindsay's purse. "Is it in your purse?"

"Yes." Lindsay waited for the officer, shivering in the night air and crossing her arms under her bosom.

When the officer passed the purse to her, Lindsay took out her wallet and flipped it open. Her license had pulled a disappearing act. Lindsay searched her purse three times and still didn't find it. Finally she lifted her eyes and said, "It's not here. I must have dropped when I-I spilled my purse in the driveway." She felt all heat drain out of her face.

"Can you tell us what happened here tonight?" Burt asked. "Were you at a party?"

"N-no-o-o." Lindsay sighed and shook her head. "A large animal ran in front of my car and I swerved to avoid it. I think I missed it, but I lost control." She spread her hands wide and looked at the mangled Lamborgini.

"Were you drinking tonight ma'am?" Officer Thompson’s gaze remained glued to Lindsay.

"No," Lindsay muttered. "Not a drop."

"Excuse us a moment ma'am," Burt said. The two officers walked a few paces away and huddled together in a conference. They lowered their voices but Lindsay heard one say, "Who is she kidding? She smells like a brewery."

She couldn’t deny she stank of liquor. She was in deep trouble. She lifted a silent prayer, but knew she was asking for miracles she didn't deserve. She did smell like a wine factory. Half a bottle of Mateus had practically showered her and drenched the sheet she wore.

Burt and the Officer Thompson rejoined her, stern expressions on their faces. "What is your name ma'am?" Burt asked.

"Lindsay. Lindsay Yvonne Jordan," she said, trying not to stutter.

"Please come with us Ms Jordan," Officer Thompson said. "We'll have a wrecker come for your car and we'll give you a claim number."

"Where are you taking me?" Why ask, she thought. She knew perfectly well where people who smelled like a brewery and crashed cars like a demolition derby went and it wasn't to the circus.

"Police headquarters ma'am," Burt said.

"Aren't I supposed to walk a straight line or take a Breathalyzer test or something first?" She held out her hands like a windmill and walked a straight line forwards then backwards. "See? I'm not intoxicated."

"You smell like you've been drinking heavily all night," Burt said.

"I didn't even have a little sip of wine. The bottle spilled on me. I'll pass your Breathalyzer."

"Get in the car ma'am," Officer Thompson said. "I have to read you your rights." Officer Thompson ticked them off with no more emotion than if she was reading her grocery list.

Lindsay hitched up her toga and climbed into the back of the police cruiser. A wire cage separated her from the officers and she grimaced, feeling like a common criminal.

What kind of mess had she landed in now? And all because of an actor? Lindsay sank back against the hard leather seat, unhappy, chilly and sticky.

Somehow she drifted to sleep and awoke with a start when the car's motor cut off.

"We're here," Burt said and climbed out her door.

Officer Thompson climbed out hers then unlocked Lindsay's door and held it wide for her.

Lindsay swung her legs over the seat and put her bare feet on the ground, wincing when she stepped on a sharp rock. Gingerly, she stood, clutching her sheet around her breasts until her knuckles turned white. She felt white as a ghost and lowered her head in shame. She followed the officers without protest.

"Hey cutie," a young man with a long, jagged scar down the side of his face and a ring in his nose asked. "How about a date?"

Lindsay averted her eyes and didn't say a word.

"What party were you at?" a slightly older man wearing a black leather vest that looked like a life preserver asked. He sported tattoos all up and down his arm and wore a big bushy mustache. "I want to crash." He swung a small chain in his hand that hung from his belt loop.

Why had he had to choose those exact words she lamented silently?

"Didn't anyone tell you that look is passé?" A man wearing a neon purple leisure suit said in an effected voice. "It went out in the eighties." He clucked his tongue and shook his head disdainfully. "Some people have no sense of fashion at all."

Lindsay muttered under her breath, "My mother would love you."

"Break it up," Officer Thompson demanded when they started to circle around Lindsay. "This ain't no peep show. Go back to your corners."

The men leered at her one last time--almost all the men that is-- but sauntered back to their corners.

The officers took her to a room that smelled like a newspaper pressroom and stopped at the desk of a man chain smoking himself to death. "Put your thumb on this pad," the man drawled and stared at her cleavage.

Heat crept up Lindsay's neck. She felt as if she were a juicy beefsteak tomato. Lindsay clutched her sheet and looked across the room. She held out her hand and let him guide it as he took her fingerprints. Finally, when she thought the ordeal to be over, they took her to another room and had mug shots made.

"Take her to delousing next," Burt said.

"What for? She's only going in the drunk tank anyway," Officer Thompson said.

"Do I get my phone call?" Lindsay tilted her chin defiantly.

"Didn't we let you have it?" Burt chuckled. "By all means, you have to have your one phone call." Burt escorted her to a pay phone and handed her a quarter. "You only get one so you'd better call someone with an answering machine in case they're not home."

"Thanks," Lindsay muttered, then hesitated. Who would she call at this time of night? It must be one a.m. or later.

She certainly couldn't call Jeff. She'd die of embarrassment if he ever found about tonight's debacle. Scene two, that is.

If she called Beverly, her mother would have a coronary on the spot.

But who else could she call?

She put her quarter in the slot and started to stab Beverly's number when she thought of Ken. He wouldn't like this, but he was the best of the evils in this situation. She could always depend on Ken to get her out of jams. Wasn't it Ken who'd finally got Maxwell and the media sharks off her back after that horrendous Gary mess?

Luckily for her, Ken answered and she spoke lowly into the mouthpiece. She only told him as much as she had too then asked him to bring a set of clothes. He promised to be right down, but he didn't sound at all pleased.

Burt ushered her none too gently into a holding cell with several other women dressed like her mother. Was the whole world ganging up on her tonight?

"What happened to you, Girlie?" A rather burly woman chuckled deeply. She was wearing a low cut, high slit emerald green sequined dress. Feathers tufted out from her bosom and she looked like a big dodo bird.

"Maybe she streaked through the streets," a mousy little woman said in a high-pitched, squeaky voice. This one wore a slinky spandex number in bright neon pink that hitched a good five inches above her knee. Thin spaghetti straps held up the top of the dress.

"Naaa. Streaking went out of style years ago," the woman with green and purple hair dismissed the idea. Lindsay noticed she had one extremely long spiked fingernail and vowed to stay away from her.

"You going to answer me, Girlie?" Big Bird's cousin answered. "Or are you too uppity for the likes of us?"

Lindsay wished they'd leave her alone but wouldn't show fear. "I had a fight with my boyfriend," she mumbled.

"Did he beat you up?" the girl with the odd hair asked, excited.

Lindsay shot her a quelling glance. "No," she grimaced. "It was just a little argument."

"Tell us about it, Honey. We ain't got nowhere better to go and nothin' better to do," a faceless voice asked from behind the group forming around her.

"Speak for yourself! I got me a cocktail party to attend," the burly woman quipped.

Everyone laughed except Lindsay.

A nicely dressed woman elbowed her way through the crowd surrounding Lindsay. At last, another normal person. Thank Heaven! Lindsay smiled at her.

"Leave her alone. Can't you see she's been through enough?" the woman said, standing up to the crowd.

"And we ain't?" a woman wearing a sheer blouse over a black bra, chimed in.

"Yeah," the crowd agreed. "We all got our troubles, chickie."

The woman put her arm around Lindsay's shoulder, removing her from the crowd. She led Lindsay to a bench and pushed her down gently.

Lindsay's breath came in short gasps.

To Lindsay's astonishment, the woman's hand lifted to her hair, stroking it. "I'd love to have hair like yours."

"Thanks," Lindsay muttered. Nervous flutters danced along Lindsay's nerve endings. Her muscles tensed.

The woman moved closer and Lindsay inched away.

Leaning towards Lindsay, the woman's face moved to mere inches from her own.

"Did anyone tell you how beautiful you are?"

Enlightenment dawned. This woman was a lesbian. Lindsay's jaw dropped and she bolted. "Oh my God!"

Everyone laughed.

"I wondered when you'd catch on, Girlie." More laughter followed.

Lindsay shuddered and held herself tightly. She was cold, sticky and absolutely miserable. All because of another darn actor!

She moved towards the front of the cell and shouted, "Guard!" She had to get out.

"No one will pay any attention to you," the burly woman told her.

The guard at the end of the hallway rose languorously as if she had nothing better to do. She sauntered in Lindsay's direction, leveling bored eyes on her.

"What d'ya want?" She loomed over Lindsay and twirled a Billy Club in front of her, but Lindsay stood her ground.

"Can I get some clothes?"

"What do you think this is?" She chuckled. "A fancy boutique?"

Everyone laughed except Lindsay.

"Surely there's something." Even an old shirt. Even striped jail issue.

"You'll get a nice pair of striped overalls when you're transferred out of here," the guard informed Lindsay. "Free of charge." She spun on her heel and started down the hall, laughing at her own humor.

"But..." Lindsay sputtered then let her voice fade when the guard kept walking.

"She don't care," the girl with the colored hair sounded sympathetic. "She's mad she has to pull graveyard shift."

Lindsay did her best to fight her growing despair. Where was Ken anyway? It seemed hours ago--a lifetime ago--that she'd called him. If she didn't get into warm clothes soon, she'd catch her death of cold.

What seemed like hours later, the guard ushered Lindsay to the foyer.

"Heavens, Linds!" What happened? You smell like a winery. I wondered why you wanted some of Genie's clothes."

"It's a long, lurid story." Sighing deeply, she closed her eyes. She felt the heat creep into her face again. "Just get me out of here and I'll tell you everything in the car."

Blinding lights flashed into Lindsay's eyes. She tried to shield them with her hands when they kept flashing like a lightning storm in the desert.

"What is the lurid story, Miss Jordan? Our readers would like to know what you're up to now?" Maxwell asked, insinuating something sinister and/or immoral. "Move closer to her Ken and say scandal!"

She cringed when she heard the voice. Photo journalists for the National Invader were one or two notches lower in the food chain than actors in her book.

"What the Hell!" Ken growled, lunging for the man's throat.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"What is the lurid story, Lindsay? Why are you being bailed out of a police station at three a.m. wearing only a sheet?" Jack Maxwell, top photographer for the National Invader and Lindsay's nemesis crammed a microphone in her face.

She turned her head away and pursed her lips, refusing to utter a word to this vile man.

"Our readers need to know."

Ken shoved the microphone away from Lindsay and took her elbow in his hand. "Get out of here, Maxwell. She has nothing to say to you."

"I'll still run the photo with the police report. Our readers will form their own opinion," Maxwell drawled and pushed the microphone back under Lindsay's nose. "I doubt it will be positive."

She treated the photographer to a stare she normally reserved for mosquitoes--ones she squished flat. It was this silver tongued devil who had wreaked havoc in her life the day Gary jilted her--as if she hadn't been undergoing enough turmoil at the time. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a reply.

"Let's go Lindsay. Don't play this joker's game." Ken pulled her elbow and escorted her to his car. She didn't get the chance to change out of the sheet.

Maxwell followed the pair and snapped another shot of Ken helping Lindsay into his car. "This is your last chance, Lindsay. Do you want to explain the circumstances?" His gaze mocked her. His eyebrow quirked and his lips twitched.

"If you print that rubbish, we'll sue you and that rag you call a paper for every dime you own." Ken stomped to his side of the car and thrust his door open. His face glowed very red and beads of perspiration dotted his wide brow.

"I'd like to see you try, Kennedy." Maxwell saluted Ken and Lindsay, pivoted on his heel and strolled away. He started whistling There's Going To Be A Heartache Tonight and he had a decided lilt to his step.

Lindsay watched the retreating devil's back until it disappeared into Police Headquarters, then slid her gaze back to Ken. She cringed when she saw his clenched fists and blazing eyes.

"I don't get one-tenth of the trouble out of my acting cast that I get out of you, Linds," he said, sighing. "What gives?"

"What gives? I'll tell you what gives. That damned bet! That's what gives." She stared into the horizon at the blanket of stars that twinkled as if her universe wasn't collapsing. "Andrews made a fool of me and now it will be spread in that scandal sheet nationwide just like the time with Gary."

"How did you end up getting arrested in a sheet? I still don't get it." Ken pushed his key into the ignition, turned it and the engine hummed to life. His white Mercedes slid smoothly out of the parking lot, turning north onto a tree lined street.

She'd said too much--- Better to keep her mouth shut. She couldn't tell her boss what she'd been doing even if he was her best friend. What had she been thinking? Somehow it seemed her brain short-circuited whenever Andrews came within a ten-mile radius of her. Her hormones took over and her mind switched off.

"I'd really rather not go into details," Lindsay said after a long pause. Leaning her head back against the seat, she watched the palm trees speed by like marching tin soldiers.

"So where am I taking you? Your place?" Her boss rested one arm on his open window and steered with one hand. "I need directions."

She bit her lower lip and thought for a moment. "I can't go home." Jeff would come looking for her there. And Maxwell. And all the other media sharks.

"Where should I take you then?" Ken turned his head and looked at her. "Your mother's place?"

"Mother would have a fit if I showed up there at four in the morning wearing--this." She cringed at the thought. Beverly would need her smelling salts.

"Where then?" Ken pulled over to the side of the road, lifted the emergency brake and turned in his seat to stare at her.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I-I don't know." Her fingers smoothed the wrinkled sheet over her legs.

Ken rubbed his head and just stared at her. She started to feel like a bug under a microscope. "Tell you what." He drummed his fingers on the side of his car door.

She lifted her eyes to Ken's and met his gaze. Her fingers stilled.

"I'll take you home with me tonight. Genie will make you some hot chicken soup and you can take a warm shower or soak in the tub." He sent her a stern look. "You can sleep in tomorrow and get your mind back together. After that, I think you should stay with your mother for a few days until everything dies down."

The heavy weight on Lindsay's heart lifted and she smiled. "You're a dear," she said. Leaning across the seat, she kissed Ken's cheek.

"Careful," he said. He studied his rear view and side mirrors, then looked around. "Maxwell or one of his friends may have followed us."

"You're still a dear," Lindsay said.

Color crept into Ken's cheeks and he averted his eyes. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I guess so."

***********************************************************

After the harrowing night, Lindsay went to the studio late. Ken had told her to stay home and take it easy but restlessness got the better of her.

She'd applied more make-up than usual to hide the dark circles under her eyes and the paleness of her skin. She wore a bright red dress of Genie's that bolstered her ego--a little.

Was this what a zombie felt like?

Genie's high heels, click-clicked down the hallway, sounding like a sniper's bullets. It took all her courage, but she held her chin high and met everyone's gaze straight on.

Who cared what Jeff or Troy had told everyone? What did it matter if Jeff gloated over his victory. What did it matter if her face--her body--was plastered all over the front page of the National Invader?

She was a rock.

Who was she kidding? When she reached the sanctuary of her office, she closed her door and locked it. Then she sank into her chair and stared numbly at her computer screen. She bet if she turned on Globalserv she'd be plastered all over the news there too. Her story might be bigger than the one about that goofy pink dinosaur that said damn in the middle of a kiddie show. That poor bastard had lost his job.

So far, she was still employed. She crossed her fingers and berated herself for the billionth time for her foolishness.

So what if she'd spent the night in jail with a bunch of lunatics? She'd survived. Ken hadn't yelled too loud.

She laughed so hard, she cried. Some of those characters were stranger than fiction. Nobody would believe her if she tried to recount her story. She wiped the dampness from her cheeks with a tissue she grabbed from a box on her desk.

Sobering, Lindsay recalled the previous evening as one big blur. Just when she'd started to trust Jeff, he'd dashed her hopes and dreams just as Gary had. He'd showed his true colors and caused her heartache like every other male actor she'd let into her life.

Glancing at her watch, Lindsay grimaced. She had precisely two hours to prepare her plan. With determination, it could be done.

Losing herself in her mission, Lindsay bolted, startled when thunderous banging sounded at her door.

"Open up Lindsay. We need to speak," Jeff yelled.

What could Jeffrey Andrews have to say that she'd want to listen to? She stopped typing long enough to stick her earphones on her head. She turned on her favorite jazz station, then continued typing.

"I know you're in there Lindsay," he said. His voice sounded muffled through her earphones, but she could still hear him. He must be shouting.

Good, she thought. He had noticed something besides himself.

"I'm getting mad. Let me in," he warned.

So they were even. "Who cares?" she yelled and turned up her music.

More pounding vibrated the door--probably an eight on the Richter Scale. Lindsay looked at the door dispassionately.

"Either you let me in or I yell through the door."

Resorting to threats now, was he? What could he possibly say that would humiliate or hurt her more than had already been done? She stood her ground.

"You can't keep running or hide indefinitely. You have to come out of there sometime."

Oh, she'd emerge all right but not until she felt good and ready. She needed a few more minutes to regroup and finish what she'd started.

Finally, blissful silence. Jeff must have grown tired and left.

Good! Picking up her phone, Lindsay dialed Ken.

"I need clearance to make some script changes for today's shoot," she stated bluntly. She flipped her hair behind her shoulders and cradled the phone between her ear and her shoulder.

Ken yawned loudly into the phone. "I thought I told you to take the day off?"

"You did, but I couldn't just sit around," Lindsay said. She pushed the control and S keys down simultaneously and saved her work and smiled at the screen. Her reflection looked mischievous--- Better than sad sack.

"So do I have it?" she asked.

"I s'pose," Ken said. He yawned. He hadn't asked to see the changes. Good. He might not approve them if he did and that didn't suit her plans.

"Thanks a mil. I owe you two," she murmured.

She stabbed her print macro key twice telling it to print two entire documents--one for Jeff and one for Sabrina--and leaned back in her chair, watching paper shoot out.

While she waited, she opened her lipstick--a bright red she had bought for the Christmas party and which matched her outfit today perfectly--and she applied it to her lips. She fluffed her hair and studied her reflection in her computer screen.

Good. She looked a lot better than she felt. Femme fatale came to mind and she chuckled. That was certainly a term she'd never equated to herself before.

She yanked the last page from the laser printer as soon as the last line rolled up. She rushed to the set to give them to Ken. In her haste, she bumped into Troy.

His hands steadied her. They lingered on her shoulders as his eyes swept over her languorously. "You looked quite fetching in that sheet."

"Drop it, Troy. I'm trying to work," she said. She tried to go around him but his hand shot out and detained her.

"You can't be in that big a rush, can you? Or haven't you stopped running?"

"Let me go," Lindsay ground out through clenched teeth.

"I'll let you go on one condition. Go out with me tonight?" He smiled. His eyes dropped to her cleavage.

"Has anyone told you lately that you're crazy?" she asked. "At least you lost your precious bet."

"Who cares about that?" he asked. He waved his hand in the air. "You're hot baby. S-mokin'! Let's make some fire together."

"Get away from the lady," Jeff said.

Lindsay's hair bristled on the nape of her neck. His heat seeped into her back.

Troy's eyes narrowed. His feet shifted, but he didn't move. "This is none of your business Andrews. Get lost." Troy didn't look as brave as he sounded.

"The lady is my business," Jeff said. His tone sounded dangerously quiet.

Whirling, Lindsay faced her dubious rescuer. "I'm not your business." She stalked away, refusing to glance behind her to see what reaction she'd evoked. She kept her back straight and her chin high.

"Ken!" Lindsay called. The scripts felt hot in her hands.

A restraining hand clamped around her upper arm. "Not so fast, Linds. We have to talk."

"Is there a problem?" Ken asked. He looked curiously at the pair, his hands on his hips.

"No problem," Lindsay denied.

Jeff's fingers squeezed tightly, leaving his imprint. Leaning his lips to her ear, he whispered, "We will talk." He strode to Sabrina's side where Helga, the big bosomed Dutch lady was applying her make-up.

"What was that about?" Ken asked. He tilted his head towards Jeff.

"That?" Lindsay schooled herself to sound nonchalant. "He didn't like his script. Prima donna actors you know. It was something silly."

"I'm the intermediary. He should have come to me."

"Tell him," she said and shrugged her shoulders. She passed the new scripts to him.

Ken read them then whistled. Raising questioning eyes, he asked, "This is supposed to appease Jeff?"

"I didn't say anything about appeasing anybody," Lindsay said. She slid a sidelong glance at Jeff and Sabrina on the stage. Pain stabbed her heart like a knife.

"I'll go throw myself to the lions. You might as well take a ringside seat," Ken muttered. He left her to give the stars their revised scripts.

Jeff opened his script revisions and skimmed over them. When he looked up, his gaze sought Lindsay and it looked absolutely murderous. He read it again, more slowly this time and narrowed his eyes.

Ken sat in his director's chair next to her and crossed his legs.

"I hope you're prepared to put out the fire," he muttered under his breath.

***************************************************************

Jeff knew trouble was brewing the moment Ken handed him Lindsay's damned script revisions.

Not only had Lindsay refused to talk to him, now she planned to crucify him on screen. Suddenly, Troy's words flashed in his mind. "Don't make her mad or you'll be sorry."

What was this anyway? A battle of wills? One upmanship? Revenge?

All of this took on absurd proportions. Lindsay had completely misunderstood everything. Worse, she wouldn't let him explain. Instead, she'd run out of Jeff's house last night, skittish as a girl at her first casting call. He'd tried to follow her, but she'd lost him, driving crazy as she had. Then he'd gone to her house and waited all night.

She'd never shown up.

Crikes! He'd waited till nearly three am. Where would she go? Her mother's apartment? With that hope, he'd found Beverly in the phone book then driven by her place looking for Lindsay's car. He drew the line at asking Beverly anything. That would have frightened her.

On the hopes that Lindsay had returned to the office, he'd checked back here. But her purse was gone.

It wasn't as if Lindsay could have waltzed into a hotel wearing just a sheet. Obviously, someone had taken her in. Maybe a friend? Maybe a male friend.

Jeff slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. Then he counted to ten, trying to quell his anger. One of these days, his temper would get him into trouble.

The young make-up artist jumped back, startled.

"It's time to start people. Take your places," Ken called.

Jeff screwed up the sheet and threw it to the floor. The sooner they started this monstrosity, the sooner it'd be over. He put himself into Slade's mindset, trying to forget Lindsay and the smug grin she fought to conceal.

But it proved difficult.

The house lights dimmed. So did the medium roar of conversation. All eyes turned to the set.

"Take One."

"How could you do this to me? If you didn't want to see me anymore, you should have told me," Jeff said.

Sabrina's eyes snapped. Her skirt swirled when she turned on him. She was a raging shrew.

Jeff had the desire to address himself to Lindsay. After all, this really pertained to their personal situation, even if she'd thrown in a few extraneous details as a smoke screen.

"I don't want to stop seeing you," Sabrina said, irritated.

Jeff shook his head, adopting a confused expression. It wasn't difficult when he thought about his on again, off again relationship with Lindsay.

"You want your cake and eat it too? Men! Not one of you can be trusted." Sabrina was working herself into a frenzy.

"Slow down," Jeff murmured. "Why don't you tell me what you're talking about?"

He poured himself a whiskey--really yellow colored water that tasted worse than the actual thing--at the bar in Saffron's apartment. Gulping it in one take, Jeff slammed the shot glass on the counter. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he raked his fingers through his hair in obvious agitation.

"You know what you did. Stop trying to squirm out of it. She confessed everything," Sabrina said. A tear trickled down her cheek.

Jeff stared past Sabrina, wondering what Lindsay hoped to get out of this. He missed his cue.

Sabrina stomped, throwing her hands on her hips, clearly enraged. "You could at least have the decency to answer me," she hissed.

Jeff dragged his gaze back to his co-star. He felt grateful that she had saved the scene. It was one he wanted to get over quickly then forget it had ever happened.

"She? She who?" Jeff narrowed his eyes.

"My sister, Sierra," Sabrina seethed. "She told me all about your little affair. How could you romance me then seduce my own sister?" Sabrina wailed. Her heels click-clicked on the stage when she advanced on Jeff menacingly, like a tigress protecting her cubs.

Jeff stepped forward, placing hands on Sabrina's shoulders. Understanding dawned in his eyes. "We only spent one night together. I'd had too much to drink. I-I didn't know what I was doing. It meant nothing..."

"Nothing?!?" Sabrina yelled. She wrenched herself out of Jeff's grasp and spat on his feet. "She's pregnant! With your baby! You're detestable and I never want to see you again!" Her arm swung back, gaining momentum. But Sabrina veered her hand away from his cheek at the last second. Only her fingertips brushed his jaw.

That hadn't been so bad.

"Cut!" Ken yelled. "What kind of sissy slap was that supposed to be people?"

Lindsay stood beside the director, speaking lowly. A smile played on the corners of her lips.

"What's wrong?" Jeff asked. He turned and glared at Lindsay.

"The slap didn't look hard enough to swat a fly. We have to reshoot the scene," Ken yelled.

"But I can't deliver a slinging slap like it says in the script," Sabrina said. She read from the script revisions. "It's not in me." She pointed at Lindsay. "Have her rewrite it."

"The audience will love it," Lindsay argued. She looked at the actress slyly. She knew how to get around Sabrina’s protests easily enough. "We have to think of the Emmy nominations. You told me yourself that you want Saffron to sizzle. Ken and I just thought..." Lindsay shrugged her shoulders, allowing her hands to turn palm upwards in a gesture of resignation.

Sabrina's eyes glowed. Her petulant frown faded and she smiled.

"After your man just slept with your sister and made a baby, you'd be furious. You'd slap him and you'd do it as hard as you could," Lindsay persuaded Sabrina, appealing to her feminine instincts.

"Stop coaxing her Lindsay," Jeff intervened. "Slade just apologized and admitted he was wrong. She has no grounds to slap him."

"You call that an apology?" Lindsay asked in disbelief. Her eyebrows rose. "It's an admission of guilt."

"She's acting immature and she's closed her mind," Jeff strode to Lindsay, towering over her. She had to bend her head back to look up at him.

"Saffron is a woman scorned. She's been betrayed in the worst way. She's broken hearted. She's..."

"Then she should be crying like a normal woman. Better yet, she should listen to an explanation like an adult, not swinging like she's in a barroom brawl."

"Crying? Like a normal woman?" Lindsay's hands fell to her hips. Disbelief sounded in her voice. "Like a normal woman in the nineteenth century maybe. This is the 1990's and you're a chauvinist, Andrews." Lindsay's emerald green eyes blazed.

"Enough!" Ken bellowed. "This is a daytime drama...not divorce court. What's come over the two of you?"

"Haven't you heard?" Troy answered from the shadows. "Rumor has it that Jeff and Lindsay were found in..."

"Shut up, if you know what's good for you," Jeff said, his temper flaring. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. His fist itched to deck the impudent jerk.

"Well, I never," Troy thrust his nose in the air. He stomped off the set, muttering loudly. When he passed by Elvis, he murmured, "Your toupee is cockeyed, old man."

"My hair's falling off!" Elvis yelled. "Somebody glue my hair back on." He ambled across the set, oblivious to the drama going on in front of him.

Ken rolled his eyes heavenward. "Why didn't I take the offer to work in Podunk, Minnesota away from this rat race?" He shook his head. "Andrews, get yourself under control and get back on the set."

Jeff stood his ground, glaring at Lindsay.

Lindsay smiled at him sweetly, looking like an innocent angel. She turned guileless eyes on Ken, willing the director to do her bidding. All she had to do was crook her little finger or bat those absurdly long eyelashes and the male members of the cast would melt at her feet.

"Today would be nice," Ken said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Jeff counted silently to ten, trying to control his rage. His fists clenched and unclenched. "Don't leave the set. I want to talk to you when this is over," he said to Lindsay through clenched teeth. Then he pivoted on his heel and rejoined Sabrina.

"Take it from the drink," Ken directed.

Cameramen scurried to get into position. Mikes crackled during adjustment. Lights dimmed. Everyone hushed, bringing their attention back to the scene on stage.

"Take two."

"Slow down," Jeff growled. "Why don't you tell me what you're talking about?"

He poured himself a whiskey--he tried to think of it as lemonade without the lemon--at the bar in Saffron's apartment. He poured it down his throat and almost choked, then slammed the shot glass on the counter. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he ran trembling fingers through his hair, wondering if it would start to fall out if he had to keep doing this.

"You know what you did. Stop trying to squirm out of it. She confessed everything," Sabrina said. She pretended that she was crying and turned her head just far enough so the camera's keen eye couldn't tell her eyes were as dry as the desert.

"She? She who?" Jeff quirked a supercilious eyebrow and looked down his nose at Sabrina.

"My sister, Whitney," Sabrina snarled. She flipped her hair behind her shoulders. "She told me all about your little affair. How could you romance me then seduce my own sister?" Sabrina demanded. She advanced on Jeff menacingly, her hands out to throttle him.

Jeff stepped forward, placing hands on Sabrina's shoulders. Understanding dawned in his eyes. "We only spent one night together. I'd had too much to drink. I-I didn't know what I was doing. It meant nothing..."

"Nothing?!?" Sabrina hissed. "She'd pregnant! With your baby! You're detestable and I never want to see you again!" Her arm swung back and she delivered a stinging slap square in the middle of his cheek. Her eyes glittered dangerously. Sabrina seemed to be in a real rage. She whirled, flouncing out of the room.

Jeff raised a tentative hand to his jaw where pain flamed. His fingers explored it.

"Cut!" Ken yelled, exasperation in his voice. "Let's do the slap again, people."

"Now what's wrong?" Jeff asked.

"Slade missed his cue. He didn't try to detain Saffron," Ken directed.

"She just slapped me! Why would I want her near me?"

"I expect you to follow the script. Get Helga to cover up that hand print. It's too red..." Ken commanded.

"No joke," Jeff muttered under his breath. He stalked to Helga's station, seething. What did Lindsay think she was doing anyway?

He tried not to flinch when Helga applied foundation over his tender flesh. When Helga finished, Jeff stormed back on the set. "Let's get this over with," he demanded.

"Pan right on Jeff. We don't want to see 'Bree's hand print." Ken treated Jeff and Sabrina to a lethal drill instructor's stare. "Let's get it right this time, people. Jeff doesn't have another spare cheek."

"He's already turned one," Lindsay taunted.

Lindsay seemed to enjoy his pain and suffering. She wasn't content with a little revenge. She wanted it with a vengeance. What had he done that was so bad that she retaliated like this? It was a little embarrassing that Troy had caught them together last night, but it didn't warrant this treatment. If his ex-wife had taught him anything, however, it was that women overreacted. And Lindsay was taking it to the limit.

His patience felt ready to snap.

"Places, people. Quiet on the set. Take it from the drink again," Ken directed.

"Take three."

Jeff called upon all his concentration to complete his lines. His heartbeat like a Congo drum and his anger shot adrenaline through his veins.

He threw the terrible drink down his throat or else he'd spit it out. He didn't even flinch when Sabrina slapped him, even though it hurt like hell. When she whirled to leave, he grabbed for her wrist, but she slid out of it, flounced away, then slammed the door in his face.

"That's a take."

Instead of stopping, however, Jeff veered, increasing his momentum. His focus settled on the impertinent woman who had the nerve to laugh aloud. Lindsay was regarding him with her most supercilious look.

She would learn differently.

Alarm widened Lindsay's eyes when Jeff swooped upon her. She was trapped before she knew she was in danger.

Stooping swiftly, Jeff scooped the slight woman in his arms, lifting her against him. He pinned her arms to her sides, ignoring her kicking legs.

"Join us in your office," he growled to Ken.

Cat calls and whistles radiated from the set. Cheering and laughter followed Jeff when he carried Lindsay towards his destination.

Sabrina turned to watch the couple when the commotion broke out. Her arms crossed under her breasts while her eyes narrowed. A real tear slid down her cheek, but she said nothing.

"Put me down!" Lindsay demanded. She pummeled his chest, but he tightened his hold on her.

"When I'm good and darned ready," he growled.

"Way to go Rhet!" Troy leered.

"The rumors must be true," a giggling actress commented to her friends when Jeff passed the group.

He saw Lindsay's cheek turn crimson and her lashes veiled her eyes like delicate black lace. Her hair cascaded over his arm, bouncing up and down.

"What's the point of this Jeff?" Lindsay said and she sighed. She stopped struggling and went limp in his arms.

"You'll find out."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lindsay said. Perfect teeth worried her lower lip.

Jeff refused to engage in further conversation. It didn't matter that he had wanted to speak to her. Now that she seemed willing, he preferred to watch her squirm. After today's antics, she deserved far worse.

Lindsay didn't have long to wait for her answer.

He barged into Ken's office, then stood and waited for Ken to join them as if he were a grizzly bear defending his den. As if she were a sack of flour, he dumped Lindsay in a soft chair opposite Ken's desk. She struggled to a more dignified position.

"Do you plan to explain your actions, Jeff, or do I have to guess?" Ken asked, bringing up the rear. He walked around his desk and plopped into his big chair.

"Get a better rein on your employees, Ken. This one," Jeff's finger shot at Lindsay, "deserves a spanking. She's acting like a two year old."

"From where I sit, you don't look much older." Ken rocked back in his chair. "Do you have any comments, Lindsay? Maybe you can shed some light on this conversation?"

Lindsay shook her head, glaring at Jeff. "Andrews is overreacting. That's all."

"If that isn't a reversal of the truth. You're the one who overreacted!"

"Calm down, Andrews. You're not apprised of all the facts," Ken defended Lindsay.

Jeff's eyes narrowed. What was going on here? Did Ken believe that he was in on that stupid bet? It looked like he was coddling Lindsay, perhaps even inflaming her misconceptions.

"Be quiet, Ken," Lindsay ordered morosely.

"But this is ludicrous, Linds. You two need to get whatever it is out in the open..."

"Get what out in the open?" Jeff said, confusion replacing his anger. Something very weird was going on.

"Stay out of it, Ken," she said. Her voice sounded deadly seriously. Jeff narrowed his eyes and tried to read what lay behind her veiled expression.

Lindsay glared at Ken. Their gazes clashed in a battle of wills. Ken dropped his gaze first, sighing.

"Will someone tell me what's going on?" Jeff demanded.

Silence reigned supreme for several moments.

"He's going to hear about it anyway Linds," Ken said.

Lindsay pursed her lips and squared her shoulders, shutting herself off from him.

Jeff turned to Ken and waited for a response. He merely shrugged his shoulders, and lifted his hands in a gesture of "oh well."

Exasperated, Jeff stormed from the office.

*************************************************************

"You're making a giant mistake, Linds. Talk to Jeff. Stop playing games," Ken said. He sat forward, peering at her.

"Stay out of this Ken. It's not your affair," she mumbled. She crossed her arms under her bosom and scowled.

"You made it my business when you drug me out of bed in the middle of the night. And when that damned reporter took that cozy picture of us together with you in a sheet." Ken scratched his jaw. "Genie's just going to love that. Her friends won't let her hear the end of that for weeks." He leaned forward on his desk. "When she's not happy," he threatened, "I'm not happy."

Lindsay relented, "I suppose so. But you're not the brunt of all the jokes today."

"So that's what's bothering you!" Light dawned in his eyes.

"That's not it! Tears sprung from the corners of her eyes. Wiping them away with the backs of her hands, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and with grim determination not to dwell on the pain, she continued. "Did you spend the night in jail in a sheet? Would you like women leering at you and making passes at you?" Lindsay smiled crookedly at Ken's almost dreamy look.

"Sorry, wrong analogy. But you get my drift," she said. Becoming more serious again, she asked. "Did you have to walk a straight line wearing that sheet?" Lindsay shuddered at the remembrance. "I almost had a fiancee named Big Marge."

"I'm sorry, Linds. I know you had a rough night, but you should explain it to Andrews..."

"That's what really hurts, you know," Lindsay murmured. She cupped her chin in her hand and stared at Ken, finally divulging the real truth. "He betrayed me. I fell in love with another damned actor and he betrayed me."

"Talk to him..."

"Explain it to him? He's already gloating over winning that lousy bet. Why should I give him more to laugh at? He'll see the story soon enough. It's probably already out on the newsstands."

"You're not giving him any credit. Did you say he won the bet? What in the devil went on last night?"

"I'm sure you can guess," she said, completely miserable.

"You went out with him and someone found out? What's the big deal? Why were you wearing only a sheet?" Ken's eyes glittered.

"He seduced me merely for the sake of winning that damned bet!"

"Come on Lindsay. You owe me more than that." Ken rose, closing the door for privacy. "I did rescue you." His voice suggested she had no choice. She had to tell someone eventually or she'd burst. Besides, it was a miracle he hadn't heard the rumors. But he would so he may as well hear the true version of the story from her lips.

"He seduced me at his house last night. Things got out of hand and we wound up in bed." She slunk down in her chair a little further.

"What were you doing at his house?" Ken asked.

"Troy walked in on us and congratulated Jeff on winning that horrible bet. This was even more humiliating than when Gary jilted me..."

"So you ran out of there in a sheet? You didn't give him a chance to explain?"

"I wasn't in much of a listening mood. I had to get away," she admitted.

"No wonder he's angry. I don't think he was in on that juvenile game. It's not Jeff's style. Are you afraid of what people will say or of love?"

Lindsay averted her eyes while she searched her soul. Ken had touched on the truth. Love frightened the hell out of her. She'd never been privy to love when it worked right. First her father had deserted she and her mother. Then Gary...

Love wasn't for her--even if it were, not with an actor.

"I thought so," Ken tapped the end of his gold pen on his desk. "For what it's worth, talk to Jeff. Explain what happened after you left the studio. He'll understand."

Lindsay rose to her feet and sauntered to the doorway.

"One more thing, Linds," Ken said. "How many times have I warned you to stop your pranks? One of these times, Bruce will get involved, then Heaven help you. I can't continue to protect you, Linds. Next time you have a tiff with Jeff, keep it between yourselves. Don't bring your personal lives into the show."

"But...it was a really good script. The audience will love it! It has Emmy written all over it!" Lindsay said.

"That won't work. You need to face your problems and deal with them directly. God knows I have enough real problems without this. Henri's boyfriend was in here complaining about that love scene between Henri and Jasmyn. He thought Jasmyn was stealing Henri away from him."

Lindsay laughed despite herself. "That's a real problem?"

"It that's not, we'll have one when that picture of you in a sheet hits the news stands."

Lindsay sobered instantly.

"I thought that would get your attention. I consulted the legal staff this morning."

"And?" Lindsay bit her lower lip.

"Maxwell's within his rights to publish the picture with the police report. We can't stop him."

"Surely we have some recourse?" Lindsay asked.

"Only if he prints false statements. We'll just have to read the story very carefully when it comes out," Ken said and grimaced.

"Has it hit the news stands yet?" Dread filled her. She didn't want all of America to see her in that awful sheet. She might never live this scandal down. Maybe she should hop a plane to the Fiji Islands where they had never heard of the National Invader and write potboilers under some little old lady pen name and sip Pina Coladas on the beach.

"It's not in today's issue, if that's what you mean. Maybe Maxwell had second thoughts and decided not to run the story. My threats may have dissuaded him."

"Don't count on it," Lindsay hissed. "Remember the wedding?" When Ken nodded, she continued, "Nothing stops Maxwell."

"He didn't show one ounce of compassion. He went after that story like a barracuda. By the time he finished, I was the best known personality in Burbank."

"North America," Ken corrected. "Just teasing. It wasn't that bad."

"I went incognito for so long I felt like Garbo," Lindsay said.

"It could be worse."

Lindsay yawned and covered her mouth with her hand. "I have to get out of here. I can barely hold my eyes open."

When she turned to leave, Ken called her back. "I almost forgot the good news."

"Tell me. I could use good news for a change."

"Secrets placed first in the ratings this week. Jeff and Sabrina are the new daytime sensation according to the soaps magazines. We're flooded with fan mail and calls for interviews for our leading couple."

Excitement flooded her, eclipsing her earlier anger. "Great! I was beginning to wonder if I'm the only one who likes my story-line."

"According to the local press, Secrets new story and leading couple have taken America by storm..."

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Would you be a dear and accompany me to the ladies room, Lindsay? The studio's so dark at night it makes me a nervous wreck," Genie, Ken's wife, nudged Lindsay to proceed her into the dark studio. Ken had stopped at the studio claiming to have forgotten some important papers that he just had to have before Monday.

"Are you sure you can't wait till we get to the restaurant?" Lindsay felt a little apprehensive herself. There was a full moon out tonight in an otherwise black sky. Not only that, it was a blue moon, the kind that lured werewolves and all other sorts of fantasy creatures out into its radiance. The studio loomed menacingly against the dark backdrop. She felt no inclination to enter that deserted building with only Genie for protection.

"I can't wait. I promise I'll only be a moment." She looked at Lindsay with big puppy dog eyes. "Please."

Lindsay stared at the barracks like structure with trepidation, then relaxed. She worked late all the time. It didn't seem so daunting from the inside, she presumed.

"I suppose so." Lindsay's voice faltered, but she obediently hitched up her skirts and swung her feet onto the tarmac. She waited for Genie to do likewise before they crossed the deserted parking lot together.

Other than the distant noise of droning engines, the only sound Lindsay heard was the click-clicking of her heels on the pavement. Genie fell strangely silent by her side, lost in some private musing.

"How are the twins?" Lindsay asked the first thing that came to her mind. One more moment of deafening silence and she'd scream, but this question guaranteed an answer from her garrulous friend. Any mention of her twin daughters always brought a special gleam to Genie's eyes.

Lindsay envied her, although she'd never tell her mother or she'd never hear the end of it. Genie had the perfect husband, the perfect children and the perfect home. She seemed too good to be true, like Donna Reed. She probably always greeted Ken at the front door after a long day of work at the studio. She'd be wearing a pretty dress with a strand of perfect pearls balancing a perfect diet cheesecake in her hands. Supper would be done, the house would be immaculate and the twins would be dressed in frilly lace dresses with pretty matching ribbons in their hair.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Of course fairytale lives only happened in the movies, but Genie and Ken probably had as near perfect a life as anyone could.

"You should have seen Mandy and Natasha after they dumped everything out of the refrigerator!" Genie giggled. "They wore left over spaghetti and spaghetti sauce all over their hair. They'd sat in the eggs on the floor. They played Bingo with the chocolate chips. I never saw two such filthy children."

"What did you do?" Lindsay chuckled. Did her mother really want a grand monster like these two?

"You never saw two curtain climbers run so fast when I yelled at those two. They were faster than a speeding bullet, trailing eggs and spaghetti sauce all over the house." Genie grimaced. "We had to have the curtains dry cleaned."

Lindsay opened the studio door and held it for Genie, then entered herself.

"Then there was the time that I took the girls to a petting zoo and Natasha, the wild one, we call her, hung onto the back of a goose," Genie said. She smiled and burst into laughter. "The poor goose didn't want to be held, especially not a bear hug the like of what Natasha likes to give..." Genie paused and wiped tears from her eyes.

"Anyway, the bird started flapping its wings. Mind you, Natasha is hanging on for dear life. The bird is half way in the air, dragging Natasha. Mandy sees this and starts crying. She grabs her sisters legs and pulls and that bird is squawking and honking and trying to fly off, pulling my girls..." Genie grasped Lindsay's arm companionably. "I started chasing my babies, trying to rescue them and wouldn't you know it?"

"What?" Lindsay asked, hanging on her every word.

"Dave White, the most handsome quarterback on our high school football team--whom I had a monstrous crush on by the way, but don't tell my husband--was watching the whole thing, laughing so hard he was crying..."

Tears fell from Lindsay's eyes she laughed so hard. Wasn't that why Ken and Genie had insisted that she join them for dinner tonight? They wanted to show her the wonders of family life.

The house lights went up and Lindsay spun on her heel, expecting to see Ken.

"Here's looking at you, Kid," Jeff murmured huskily. He held out one hand to her in invitation, waiting for her to put hers in it. A white felt fedora hat hung roguishly over one eye. His ebony eyes twinkled with devilment. He was wearing a double-breasted white suit from another era. White wing-tipped shoes peeked out from beneath his slacks.

Lindsay's heart stopped as sure as if she'd had a coronary. Then it raced as she took in the scene around her. It certainly wasn't the eerie, dark studio that greeted her. It looked as if she had walked into a fantasy: another era, another place, another world.

Jeff pushed a drink into her hand then tilted the hat he was wearing sideways on his head. He was the last person Lindsay wanted to see that night. She'd wanted to avoid him and although she knew she couldn't do that indefinitely, she had hoped to have more time than this to compose herself. Certainly, she didn't want all these people witnessing what was certain to be another heated confrontation.

"I thought the costume party was last month? We certainly don't need a repeat," Lindsay said dryly, poised to return the way she had come. However, Genie blocked the door and smiled conspiratorially at her. "Traitor," Lindsay mumbled. "I'll get you for this."

"You'll thank us," Genie retorted and ducked out the way they'd come in.

"Once was enough," Jeff agreed. "I never want to see Little Bo Peep from hell again, although I wouldn't mind seeing you dressed like Zsa Zsa..."

"Who are you supposed to be? Al Capone? The Godfather?" she asked dryly, ignoring his suggestion.

"Can't you tell? I stock the finest wines and employ the best Moroccan chef in all of Casablanca."

"Ahhh. Rick's Place so you must be the infamous Rick," Lindsay said and pursed her lips. She looked into his sardonic ebony eyes. "I knew you were some kind of gangster. You won't even have to act tonight." Actually, Lindsay found herself charmed by this elaborate set-up. A gentle breeze wafted through the studio, but best of all was the piano and the piano player.

Sam's double played As Time Goes By just as hauntingly romantic, as endearingly tender as in the movie.

The sight of Jeff took her breath away. He looked debonair and devastating in his attire with his hair slicked back. His white suit, set off by a sky blue shirt and white tie made his California tan gleam under the soft lights. He had unbuttoned the top of his shirt and loosened the tie so that it hung low around his neck.

Jeff gazed into her eyes and smiled. His eyes gleamed as black as coal tonight, deeper than a starless night in the mountains near San Jose. But it was the look of hunger that sent shivers chasing down her spine.

Memories of angry words faded when he held his hand out to her.

She put her hand in his and felt warmth flow through her veins. "What is this all about?" Lindsay asked.

"We must talk. You must listen to me." He drew her inexorably closer. "No interruptions. No misunderstandings. No bystanders. Just you and me Kid," he murmured into her ear.

He pulled her into his arms and the piano player crooned the haunting melody. Potted palms swayed in the makeshift breeze and Lindsay let herself enjoy Jeff's touch without self-recriminations--for now.

"You know," Lindsay whispered, smiling, "Casablanca is one of my favorite movies. I've seen it at least fifty times.."

"I know," Jeff laid his cheek against her head and cuddled against her.

Lindsay pulled away and stared into those ebony eyes. "How could you?"

"Ken and Genie weren't my only information resource. I've been a faithful viewer of Secrets for a long time. There've been many, many take-off's of Casablanca and other Bogart movies. When I started inquiring around, I found that you were responsible for them. It didn't take much deduction from there..."

"I get the picture," Lindsay said slowly, realization dawning on her finally. "Why the seduction scene?"

"Seduction? What makes you think such a thing?" Jeff's suave tones denied such a possibility, but his body told her otherwise.

"You deny it? This," Lindsay swept her hand in an all-encompassing gesture, "is not your ordinary date. You obviously went to a lot of trouble to set this up. Isn't it about time you told me why?" Lindsay raised inquiring eyes to his.

"You wouldn't talk to me much less go on an ordinary date. I had to do something to get your attention," Jeff said. He lifted her chin with two fingers so that she was looking into his eyes. "Did I get your attention Luscious Lindsay?"

"This certainly did the trick. But why?" She trembled in his arms.

"When you ran out of my house the other night, you had already tried and convicted me of being part of that damned bet that infuriates you so much. Every time I tried to explain, I got doors slammed in my face or stone cold silence from you. You and Ken have been talking riddles around me. Something more happened that you aren't telling me, and I want to know what it is." Jeff searched Lindsay's eyes with his narrowed ones.

"Is that your idea of an apology? You humiliated me and now you accuse me of being unfair to you?" Lindsay saw red. She pulled back suddenly and knocked a chair over, startling the piano player.

The man stopped playing and turned in his seat to stare at them.

Jeff nodded to the man, who turned around and started playing again.

His hands felt like vice grips around Lindsay's arms. They held her securely, preventing her escape.

"Am I your prisoner now? Do you plan to throw me over your shoulder again?" she accused. "You Tarzan? Me Jane?"

"I don't need to force my women to do anything," Jeff gritted through his teeth. The words sounded more like a growl.

Why did they always end up fighting? Why couldn't they ever do things the easy way?

"Women? I presume you have a lot of women, a handsome, rich actor like you?" Lindsay mused.

"There you go, stereotyping all actors again," he accused. "As I recall, you were pretty willing."

Lindsay lowered her voice so the piano player wouldn't catch her words, "I thought you were a gentleman. I believed that you wanted me, not the prize in some lousy, childish bet." Twisting, she tried to escape from his iron grip.

Jeff tightened his hold almost cruelly. His fingers bit into her soft flesh.

"What do I have to do to make you believe that I wasn't part of that bet? I knew about it, yes, but I had told Troy that I wanted no part of it. I forgot he was coming over. Hell, I had no idea that we would make love that night until it happened. I didn't know you were coming to my house. Everything I said to you, every time I touched and kissed you, has been genuine."

Lindsay finally heard him. She wanted to believe him, but she needed to know more. She stopped struggling.

"Then why didn't you deny your part in it?"

"I tried to!" Jeff's exasperation surfaced fully now. "I tried to follow you, but you disappeared before I could put my pants on. I searched for you all night. I was sick with worry. You never came home and I had no idea where you'd gone. When you came into the studio the following day, you had a chip on your shoulder the size of L. A."

"When you put it that way," Lindsay felt more than a little foolish, "I see that I wasn't very forgiving."

"Not very?" His hands relaxed. The fury had gone out of the argument, but Jeff still didn't release her.

"Okay," Lindsay relented. "Not at all. I felt humiliated and used. I was mortified that Troy had found us together in such a compromising position. The only thing I could think was that you had tricked me."

"Lindsay," Jeff's voice softened. He drew her closer, enveloping her in his embrace. His large hand pulled her head onto his shoulder then he stroked her hair smoothly against her cheek. The caress moved her more than wild passion.

"I know that your father left without a trace. I know that your fiancé jilted you at the altar. By coincidence, both were actors and both left their scars on you. If I could, I would knock some sense into both of them for what they've done to you. But," Jeff lifted Lindsay's chin with his fingers so that he could probe her gaze with his, "I'm not like them. I would never, ever do what they did and I will never hurt you. I wasn't part of that bet."

Tears filled Lindsay's eyes. They burned from trying to hold back the flood of emotion that Jeff's words had evoked. His gentleness became her undoing. She shook with pent-up emotions, both those that had festered for years and the newer, rawer emotions from wounds that had been inflicted more recently. Burying her face into Jeff's strong shoulder, she allowed the tears to flow.

Jeff's closed his arms around her, hugging her tightly, enfolding her in his warmth and his strength. His heartbeat drummed against her ear and she took comfort from his steady strength. She could feel all the frustrations and sadness flow from her as her body shook against his. She shed tears for the little girl who had yearned for a father, for a kind man who would take her fishing, who would push her in the swing at the playground and catch her at the bottom of the slide, someone who would watch her dance recitals with pride gleaming in his eyes, someone who would hoist her on his shoulders then lower her gently and tuck her into bed every night and tell her bedtime stories.

She's longed for a father to inspect her dates and tell them to have her home by midnight and who would have watched with pride as his little girl went to her first prom dressed like a princess. She cried for the young woman who's first love had shattered her image of the knight in shining armor and threw her to the sharks instead on what should have been the most beautiful day of her life--her wedding day...

"I didn't know that such a tiny woman could hold so many tears," Jeff finally broke the silence. He dropped a light kiss on the top of her head.

Sniffing, Lindsay choked back a sob, struggling to bring her emotions under control.

Lindsay hugged Jeff back and smiled tentatively. For an instant, they gazed into one another's eyes. Jeff hypnotized her, bidding her to do his will, easily melting her anger towards him.

He spread one arm wide, gesturing to the room. "Does it meet with your approval?" His eyes glittered like diamonds.

"Hmm. It's heavenly," she murmured. And it was. It had an almost heavenly quality--the music, the decor but especially the man.

"That's much better. Are you finally going to tell me what happened that night? Why you didn't go home?" Jeff asked. He drew her to a dance floor surrounded by potted palms and bathed by muted light. Pulling her into a loose embrace, cheek to cheek, his hips swayed against hers and he rocked back and forth.

Lindsay drew a deep breath. "After I left your house," Lindsay whispered. She put a tight rein on her emotions to keep from bursting into tears again, "I headed home. I was half crazed with hurt and suspicion. I felt betrayed and used."

"But you weren't," Jeff murmured against her.

"I thought so at the time. Anyway," Lindsay continued. "I was speeding and I was crying and an animal jumped out in front of me. I-I swerved to miss it and I wrecked into another car." She gulped in a deep breath.

"Were you hurt?" Jeff asked. He pulled back and studied her face with critical eyes.

"No. I’m fine," she said. She dropped her gaze. "But my car is totaled. So is the car I hit."

"So long as you're okay, cars don't matter," Jeff murmured in relief. He drew her to him.

"There's more," she whispered, pulling back.

"More?" His eyes narrowed and he almost stopped swaying back and forth.

"Yeah," she admitted. "Remember, all I had on was a sheet, wrapped like a Roman Toga--soaked with wine." She paused for effect and was rewarded when Jeff's eyes widened in realization. "I was arrested for DUI. Ken's helping me to fight it, but..." She closed her eyes. "I was in jail most of the night--in county lock-up--wearing that cold, stinking, sticky sheet."

"You must have looked very fetching," Jeff teased. His eyes twinkled.

Lindsay turned her head. "It's not funny. No one would give me any clothes to wear. Men leered at me. The other women in my cell made fun of me," she said. "All except one..."

"You made a friend in jail?" Jeff asked, chuckling.

"Big Marge. She wanted me to set up house and shop for curtains with her," Lindsay murmured. She glared at Jeff daring to make fun of her.

Jeff tried to hide a smirk but failed dismally. He started laughing, his baritone deep and resonant in the deserted studio.

Lindsay tried to pull away, but Jeff held her as easily as if she were a toddler.

"You've got to admit it's funny now," he said and she cracked a grin despite herself.

"It won't be so funny when the picture of me in a sheet at the county lock-up hits all the papers..." She grimaced, dangling more bait and waited for the impact to hit.

Jeff's eyes widened further and he stopped laughing so suddenly she wondered if she'd just imagined his previous mirth.

"Picture? What picture?" he asked, his voice deathly quiet.

"J.J. Maxwell, the biggest gossip columnist in the country, the one that works for the National Invader. He practically shot an entire role of film of me in that blasted sheet."

"Oh no," Jeff breathed. His expression turned murderous.

"Oh yes. The same man who plastered my picture all over his scandal sheet when my fiancé jilted me two years ago. He enjoyed every minute, too."

"I haven't seen anything in the papers yet," Jeff said.

"Yet," Lindsay murmured and closed her eyes. "He's waiting till the worst possible moment--probably the week of the Emmy nominations--so they'll kill our chances of winning."

"That shouldn't effect whether or not you win an Emmy," Jeff said logically.

"Of course it will!" she blurted out. "Do you really think the Nominations Board will select a suspected drunken driver to win one of their prestigious Emmy's on national television?" she grimaced. "I doubt it."

"I don't think it's that bad, Linds...," Jeff started.

"I can just see the headlines now," Lindsay said. She broke away from Jeff and mimed a large rectangle in the air as if she were playing charades. "Naked Soap Writer Smashes Lamborgini".

"Look, Linds," Jeff said lowly. "I feel partly responsible. I'll hire an attorney for you and get you another car..."

Lindsay shook her head and her hair bounced about her waist. "No. I can't let you do that," she whispered, alarmed. "I'm the one who ran out of here like a maniac. I'm the one who wrecked the cars."

"I want to Lindsay. I can easily afford it."

"How?" Lindsay asked the question that had been plaguing her since she'd visited his house the first time. Heat crept up her cheeks at the thought of the tropical paradise in his back yard. "I mean," she paused looking for the right words, "I don't think off-Broadway actors earn the kind of money it takes to buy a mansion like you have."

"They don't," he paused. "You see, my family's very wealthy. My father is Robert Andrews." Jeff lowered his head and peered hard into her eyes. "He's better known as..."

"Drew Andrews," Lindsay gasped, the puzzle pieces suddenly falling into place.

CHAPTER NINE

Lindsay's mind reeled at the revelation and she felt all kinds of a fool. She felt the color drain from her face and she just stared at Jeff.

The clues had been right under her nose, but she'd missed them. He was the spitting image of his famous father. He even had his deep, sultry voice, his potent charm. It wasn’t as if she could ever forget Drew Roberts considering her mother's obsession with the man. She should have made the complete connection the first time she saw him. If not then, certainly, long before now.

She felt like the infamous fiction character, Lois Lane, star reporter for the Metropolis Daily Planet. A supposedly smart cookie, Lois couldn't discern that Clark Kent was really Superman wearing glasses.

Daaa! Where had her brain been? Not in her head lately, that's for sure. Since meeting Jeffrey Andrews, she'd been one solid mass of hormones.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" she whispered. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't want to live under Dad's shadow. I want to make it on my own," he said. "Enough people mistake me for him as it is. I don't like to take advantage of my connection to him," he chuckled wryly.

"I can see your point," she said. "I don't want to live under my mother's shadow either, much as I love her." She definitely didn't want to dress like Beverly. Just the thought of fuchsia lipstick, plumes and form fitting spandex anything gave her chills.

"Let's go somewhere special," he murmured in her ear.

"This isn't special?" she asked and looked around her at the special trouble to which he'd gone to transform this set into Casablanca and Rick's Place.

"Even more special," he whispered. His eyes darkened and he tugged on her hands.

She felt heat rise in her neck and flush her cheeks. She bit her lower lip and let herself be carried away into the night. She took one last long look over her shoulder and whispered, "We'll always have Paris."

Jeff pulled her out into the gorgeous night. Stars twinkled against a black velvet curtain. An orange-gold lover's moon shimmered as if dusted by fairy dust. Just a hint of wisteria wafted to her on a gentle breeze that swirled her long skirt around her legs. Palm trees swayed. Red and pink night flowers bloomed in profusion.

He buckled her into his Porsche, so black that it almost faded into the night. He coaxed the car to glide into traffic and they whipped along the boulevard.

Although she wondered where he planned to take her, she didn't want to break the magic spell that enchanted them and opted to be surprised, although she had a sneaking suspicion he headed for the privacy of his mansion. Instead, she tossed her head back and laughed. For once she let the wind whip her hair around her face and didn't try to control it.

When Jeff circled around and pulled into Wong Fu's, she looked askance at him.

"How about some Chinese?" he said. He unfolded his long frame from the car, then helped her out, keeping her hand captured in his.

"This is more special than Casablanca?" she asked, lifting a finely arched eyebrow.

"Anywhere with you is special," Jeff whispered in her ear and nibbled on it, making her giggle.

"You are just too charming, Sir," Lindsay drawled. "How can I refuse you anything when you sweet talk me like that?" She snuggled against his side and smiled coyly.

"Don't refuse me, Luscious Lindsay," he drawled and turned her to face him. His hand cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb rubbing her jaw line. When he lowered his lips to hers, she didn't resist.

Jeff requested a secluded table and they were led to a private corner to a table adorned with flickering candlelight and orchids. The waiter winked at Jeff and bestowed a twinkling smile on her.

Steaming hot food, rice wine and fortune cookies were brought to the table almost immediately.

"What's going on?" Lindsay whispered. She leaned across the table. "We didn't order yet."

"I called in and ordered for us," Jeff smiled smugly. "I hope you don't mind. I didn't want any interruptions tonight."

"I didn't see you make any calls..."

"I called before you arrived at the studio," Jeff admitted. He poured wine into two glasses, then took a sip from his glass.

"You're pretty sure of yourself Mister," Lindsay retorted. She dished a big scoop full of white rice onto her platter then smothered it with Garlic Shrimp. Tempted beyond endurance, she stabbed a succulent shrimp and bit into it. "This is soooo good," she said. She closed her eyes.

"You look soooo good," Jeff murmured. He lifted a forkful of Hunan Beef to her lips and poised it mid-air in front of her lips.

Lindsay opened her mouth and put her lips around the fork. He pulled it back so slowly, his gaze on her lips, it felt like naked seduction.

A slow ember burned in the pit of her stomach. By the time she'd finished two glassfuls of rice wine and half the platter of Garlic Shrimp, that ember had flamed to life. Her physical hunger had been sated but another, larger fire longed to be quenched.

"Open your fortune cookie," Jeff said. He pushed one towards her. "I want to see what the future holds in store for us."

When Jeff didn't reach to open one himself, she asked, "Don't you want to know your fortune?"

"Most definitely," he murmured, but he didn't move a muscle. "You first."

Lindsay cracked her cookie and pulled out the little slip inside. At first, she saw the blank side--no lottery numbers. "This one must be a misprint," she said. When she reached for another cookie, Jeff put his hand on hers.

"No it isn't," he drawled. "Turn it over."

Lindsay laughed. Why was he acting so strangely? She turned it over and sucked in a deep breath when she read the all capital letters MARRY ME LUSCIOUS LINDSAY.

She stared at the message, dumbfounded. She had to be dreaming. She couldn't speak.

"Well?" He laughed.

She awoke from her stupor. Her gaze clashed with his. "Yes!" she yelled so loudly several people turned to stare at them.

Jeff rose gracefully, strode around the table and pulled her to her feet, then crushed her to his chest as he drank deeply of her lips.

Cheers rose. Lights flashed. One of the cameramen from Secrets walked around them, pointing a video camera at their faces.

Lindsay tore her lips away at the sound. She turned her head, stunned. The cast and crew of Secrets surrounded them, clapping. Troy let out a long, loud catcall. They knew. "This was a set up," she breathed.

"Kiss her again old chap," Elvis demanded amongst the laughter and cheering.

"Don't look now," Jeff whispered in her ear, "but Elvis' hair is slipping."

Lindsay glanced at Elvis through veiled lashes and saw that indeed, his toupee lay askew on his head. She hoped he had enough denture cream on so his teeth wouldn't fall out.

"Kiss her Andrews!" Ken yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Or do you need stage directions?"

"He's an actor, someone has to tell him what to do," a cameraman quipped and the crowd broke into laughter. "Turn your nose to a 45 degree angle, Andrews," the man added.

"She's a writer," Henri yelled. "She can give him written instructions."

"What's the hold up Andrews?" Troy yelled. "Kiss her!"

"Kiss me," Jeff drawled, lowering his lips. "You heard your fans."

"We can't disappoint the fans, can we?" she agreed, chuckling.

"They'd never forgive us," he murmured against her lips and he drew her bottom lip into his teeth and nibbled it. Then he plundered her lips with his.

They became lost in time and Lindsay drifted on white fluffy clouds. Angels couldn't lift her higher than she felt this very moment.

Vaguely, she heard someone clearing their throat near her. Dazed, she pulled away from Jeff's kiss reluctantly.

Their waiter held out the second cookie. "Can you open this one now?"

Lindsay lifted a questioning gaze to Jeff. She took the cookie and lifted it to him. "What is it Jeff?"

A deathly hush fell over the room but Lindsay barely noticed. She only had eyes for Jeff.

"Open it and find out." His eyes danced. Jeff’s arms fell, giving her space to step away a bit.

Carefully, she snapped it open, wondering what could be in this one.

She gasped when light glinted off a huge, beautifully cut diamond ring with tiny emeralds surrounding it. The cookie halves fluttered to the floor at her feet. Her gaze lifted to Jeff's.

"It's absolutely exquisite. I love it," she said simply and flung her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on his lips.

Everyone cheered. "Put it on her finger Jeff!" Jasmyn called.

"It's not as exquisite as you," Jeff murmured low enough for her ears only. Love glimmered in his eyes. "I think you'd better give me the ring before they lynch me."

"It's mine," she tried to refuse. He took her hand and pried the ring from her clenched fist.

"Don't worry, Luscious Lindsay. I'm not taking it from you. It's yours forever and ever." He still held her hand.

"What's the delay Andrews?" the bold cameraman yelled. "Did you get the wrong size?"

"It came out of a Cracker Jack Box," Troy quipped. "It's one size fits all."

"Stuff a sock in it, Troy," Ken yelled. "Let them get on with it."

"I'm really going to have to give him a twin brother Damian," Lindsay murmured and shook her head.

Jeff chuckled. "He should know better than to anger you by now."

"You'd have thought he'd learned his lesson after I sent him into that volcano," Lindsay said.

"A real volcano?" Jeff asked. He lifted his eye brow.

"Just an itty bitty one on our last location shot," she admitted. When Jeff looked stunned, she added, "It had been extinct since recorded history. He was safe enough."

"Now I know why he's scared of you," Jeff murmured. "Give me your hand, Linds. The fans are getting restless."

"Lift her hand higher so we can all see," Jasmyn shouted.

"Mr. Showmanship till the last, aren't you Jeff?" Lindsay asked, laughing. She let him lift her hand so the cameraman got a clear shot for the video.

He slipped the ring onto her finger and it fit perfectly. "All the better to show our children," he crooned.

"Children," she gulped. Then she felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Mother should be happy. Now she can stop hounding me night an day." Lindsay looked around. "Did you invite Mother?" Another thought struck her. "What about your father?"

"No. I couldn't get a hold of your mother," Jeff murmured, looking abashed. "Dad's here somewhere. Let me introduce you."

"I'd like that," Lindsay said, awed. "I really can't take all this in. It's happening so fast."

"Speech!" Elvis yelled.

The crowd chanted, "Speech! Speech! Speech!"

Lindsay and Jeff looked at each other.

"You first," Jeff said.

"I only write speeches," she finally said aloud. "I don't normally give them." She felt frightened as a deer in the sites of a raised shotgun. "If I wanted to give speeches, I'd be in front of the camera, not behind it." She paused, wandering why all her witty words had deserted her at such a crucial time.

"I'm sure you can tell how happy I am and how excited," she said. She lifted her hand and wiggled her finger with the ring on it. Her engagement ring sparkled like the Hope Diamond. The crowd cheered and clapped.

"I just want to thank you all for being here on the happiest day of my life," Lindsay said. She wondered if she should blow kisses like the actresses did after they accepted a highly acclaimed award. None could be better than this.

"I just want to say I think I'm the luckiest man alive," Jeff said. "I won the grand prize." He twirled Lindsay in his arms and kissed her soundly.

"Son," Drew Roberts ambled up to the happy couple. "When do I get to meet my new daughter?"

Lindsay froze. She couldn't believe the silvered fox film legend stood before her calling her daughter. She had to be dreaming.

Drew Roberts lifted Lindsay's hands to his lips and kissed it. "I see my son won the grand prize," he murmured.

"Enough of the charm, Dad," Jeff laughed and took Lindsay's hand in his. "Lindsay, I'd like you to meet my dad, Robert Andrews--better known as Drew Roberts."

"I'm pleased to meet you Mr. Andrews," Lindsay said, awed.

"She's mine, Dad. Get your own girl." Jeff chuckled. Louder, Jeff announced, "I have a second announcement. For those of you who don't know my father, this is Drew Roberts, really Robert Andrews."

A minor riot broke out in the restaurant and the crowd pressed in on Jeff's father.

"He puts his pants on one leg at a time like you and me," Jeff yelled. "You'll be seeing him around the set. There's no need to maul the poor man."

"I'll handle it son," Drew said. "Take care of your new fiancee."

Jeff whispered in Lindsay's ear. "I think he enjoys the attention." He dipped his head and captured Lindsay's lips under his. She parted hers and twined her fingers in his hair. She opened one eye and caught the glint of her new engagement ring and smiled against his lips.

The crowd started throwing fortune cookies in the air. Jeff and Lindsay separated when one hit them in the face.

"Toast," Ken yelled. "I'm so glad you two got together before you tore apart the studio!"

Everyone laughed.

Elvis climbed atop a table. He cleared his throat and his hair fell to the floor.

Lindsay put a hand over her mouth to hide her laughter. "I just want to say that if losing the best teeth I ever had helped bring these two young lovebirds together, I'd do it again..."

"Speak for yourself, old man!" Troy yelled.

"If I ever have to get in another Little Bo Peep costume, somebody's head's going to roll," Sabrina threatened.

Lindsay looked up at the sound of her voice, so sad in contrast to the merry making evident in everyone else's faces. In the face of her giddiness, she could be gracious and her heart went out to the actress. Maybe she'd truly felt attracted to Jeff.

Genie ran up and threw her arms around Lindsay. "We're so happy for you!" she said. "Ken thinks Jeff is a great guy."

"I'll forgive you for keeping secrets from me this time. But don't ever trick me like that again," Lindsay warned, and then smiled. She hugged Genie back.

Ken clapped Jeff on the back. "Way to go Andrews. It took you enough takes to finally get your girl, but I'm glad to see you got it right. See that you keep her happy." Ken scratched his jaw. "Say, why didn't you tell us that Drew Roberts is your old man."

Jeff shrugged. "I wanted the part on my own merit," Jeff said and pulled Lindsay to his side. "I promise I'll take good care of her."

Ken kissed Lindsay on the cheek. "He's a good man, Linds. Remember that."

"I will," Lindsay promised. She smiled at Jeff.

Jeff whispered in her ear, "Let's get out of here before Elvis starts doing the striptease or dad starts showing baby pictures of me."

Troy sauntered up to the happy couple. He held out his hand to Jeff.

Jeff stared at him for several seconds then took the proffered hand in a firm shake.

"I'm glad to see the best man got the girl," Troy said. To Lindsay, he said, "Hey, I'm sorry about that stupid bet. It was just in fun and we didn't mean any harm by it."

Lindsay stared at him, uncertain what to do. It was hard to be mad at anybody tonight.

Jeff nudged at her and whispered, "Let the guy off the hook."

"You're forgiven," she said. "Friends?" she asked.

"Friends," Troy said, smiling. "May I kiss the bride?" he asked.

Jeff nodded his head, his expression grim. "A little kiss."

Troy grabbed her and kissed her hard on her mouth. Jeff stepped in and broke it up.

"I said little kiss," he growled.

"That is a little kiss for a Texan," Troy drawled, smiling like a cat. He stuck his hands in his pocket and sauntered away whistling.

"What d'ya hear? What d'ya say we blow this joint?" Jeff said in his best gangster imitation. "Are you with me dish?"

"King Lear did get that from you," she accused, laughing.

"Nope," Jeff denied. "I got it from him."

"Let's slip out the back door when they're not looking. This party might go on for hours, and I rather--uh--had a different sort of party in mind."

Jeff clasped Lindsay's hand and pulled her after him. They tried to sneak out the back door, but they were caught and everyone started throwing fortune cookies.

When they finally escaped into the brisk night air, Lindsay felt flushed and giddy. "I can't believe I'm going to be Mrs. Jeffrey Andrews," she breathed. She stood on her tippy toes and brushed her lips to his. "I'm happier than anyone's ever been or ever will be," she said, then broke away from him and spun around, hugging herself with joy like a kid playing pinwheel.

Jeff pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard.

She parted her lips and drank deeply of him, enjoying the taste of Hunan Beef on his lips. After an eternity he released her lips. They breathed hard and traced her lower lip with his finger.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered. "Let's get home."

He folded her then himself into his black Porsche then sped away into the night. Within moments they pulled into Jeff's driveway. Honeysuckle and jasmine permeated the night air and Lindsay heard King Lear singing an Elton John medley in the distance.

Jeff fumbled with his keys but finally the door opened.

"What d'ya hear? What d'ya say?" King Lear asked in his terrific Jimmy Cagney imitation. "Wait till I get you outside you mug face! Squawk!" the bird said. "Stick 'em up! You're all covered!"

"It's just me and the pretty lady," Jeff told the bird.

"You're a pretty good looking dish," the bird greeted. He flew off his perch, grabbed the gold bars of his cage with his talons and cocked his head so far to the side Lindsay thought his neck would surely snap. "Come here suckers."

"Lindsay," she laughed. "We met the other night and I'm not a sucker."

"Would you like to take a midnight swim?" Jeff crooned in her ear. His teeth nibbled her earlobe and his hot breath ignited flames in the pit of her belly. "The moon's out, the stars are shining and I've got my girl. What do you say pretty lady?"

"I don't have a suit with me," she murmured. She remembered the last time she'd told him that and her lips trembled in anticipation.

"Suits are optional," he whispered. He tugged off his tie, shrugged out of his jacket and unbuttoned his shirtsleeves.

"Me and Suzie had so much fun, dancing to the Crocodile Rock," King Lear sang tunelessly. His head bobbed back and forth and he lifted his scruffy wing feathers.

"He's trying to serenade us," Jeff whispered.

"What's he been watching on television this week?" she wanted to know.

"Don't ask."

When Lindsay quirked a questioning brow, Jeff sighed. "Obviously American Movie Channel was too dangerous so I let him watch Nickelodeon."

"Slime the Red Team," King Lear shouted then squawked. "Throw the mud pie!"

"You see what I mean?" Jeff groaned.

Lindsay laughed and kicked off her heels.

"Bennie and the Jets. Slime the Blue Team," King Lear mixed up his song.

"Let's go out to the pool," Jeff said and tugged her behind him.

"If I were you," Lindsay whispered, "I'd only play classical music for that bird."

"Come here woman and forget the bird," Jeff said and pulled her out the door to the patio. He let it bang.

"What d'ya think we are? A bunch of cream puffs?" King Lear shrilled at the top of his lungs.

"There's some extra suits in the bath house," Jeff said. "You can wear one if you like..."

Lindsay turned on him. "Why didn't you tell me that last time I was here?"

"I clean forgot about them," he said. "Suits are not a requirement..." He patted her bottom.

Lindsay pulled away, laughing. She pointed at the bathhouse. "I-I'm going to change into a suit and I'll be right back."

"Are you still shy of me Luscious Lindsay?" Jeff laughed.

Lindsay ignored his question and ran to the bathhouse.

She was just pulling the suit on when Jeff banged on the door. "What's taking so long in there? If you don't come out in one minute, I'm coming in after you," he growled in such a way that primitive urges surged through her body.

When she opened the door, the night breeze caressed her exposed skin, chilling her. Folding her arms under her bosom, she jogged to the Jacuzzi. Jeff was lounging in the whirlpool, his head resting on the smooth curved tile lining the edge with his eyes closed.

Lindsay stared down at him and felt heat seep into her cheeks. She stepped closer and dipped her toes into the water. Exquisite warmth!

Jeff's eyelids opened. He stared at her and smiled languorously. His eyes were ebony pools under the moonlight and she felt hypnotized. He lifted his hand and grasped hers. "Your eyes are lodestars...," he rasped.

Lindsay stepped down and the water bubbled around her ankle. Before she could take another step, he pulled her on top of him. His arms snaked around her, pulling her against his hard chest. He smothered her mouth with his kisses and buried his hands in her wet curls.

The kiss lasted an eternity. Wild birds serenaded them. Moonlight basked them in its glow. The gentle breeze licked their shoulders and their faces. A piece of air moss fell from the tree into the Jacuzzi. When the current pushed it against her back, she laughed against Jeff's lips.

Finally, Jeff lifted his head and she sucked in a deep breath.

"You taste so good. I can't get enough of you Luscious Lindsay," he drawled, pulling her head onto his shoulder. He stroked her hair.

She could feel his heart galloping beneath her ear and she drew a circle around his male nipple with her fingertip.

"Keep doing that and I'll ravish you right here and now," he said.

"Promises, promises," she crooned. She dipped her head and flicked her tongue over his nipple.

Jeff sucked in a breath and she felt his erection grow against her leg. "We'd better get inside before we catch our death of cold," he murmured against her hair. "I want to see you in your wedding gown, not a hospital gown."

CHAPTER TEN

"I have the most wonderful new, Mother!" Lindsay fairly shouted into her phone the next morning at work. She closed her eyes and images of being in Jeff's arms floated before her eyes. "I can't wait to tell you..."

"Linds. I have something to tell you that can't wait," Beverly interrupted, hesitantly.

"But neither can mine. I'm..."

"Your father isn't really your father," Beverly said. Her voice shook as if it would snap any minute.

"What did you say?" Lindsay whispered. Her mind reeled. Like a puff of smoke, her happiness dissipated. "We must have a bad connection. I thought I heard you say something funny like, My father isn't really my father?" Lindsay bit her lower lip.

"That's what I said."

"I see," Lindsay said, not really seeing at all. She couldn't remember her father. The closest she'd ever come to having a father was the glossy 8x10 picture in a gilt frame on her mother's dresser or the smaller version on her desk in front of her now. That wasn't a father.

Something twisted in her stomach, nonetheless. Maybe it was the tone of her mother's voice causing this queasy feeling.

"I don't think that you do. There's no way you could," Beverly sounded agitated.

"Okay, Mother. I'll bite. Who is my father? If you haven't told me the truth all these years, why tell me now, over the telephone? Shouldn't we discuss this over dinner? At least somewhere more intimate?" Although she had tried to keep her voice steady, she failed miserably. It cracked with the hint of a sob as she choked back hot tears. She felt very emotional, swinging from one end of the mood spectrum to another in an instant, so unlike her.

"I may not have the courage left to tell you if I wait. I'm ready, now!"

"Then tell me Mother. I'd really like to know who my father is." Lindsay tried to steady her voice, tried to regain her composure. Obviously, she failed. She picked up Robert Jordan's picture, wondering whom the man in the frame really was. Absently, she turned it over and over in her hands.

"I can't take your anger. I don't know if I'm up to this right now, after all," Beverly's frail voice trailed off.

"Please, Mother! You started this. You owe me the truth. After twenty seven years, I deserve to know who my real father is!" Lindsay's composure crumbled. Simultaneously, she was afraid to know, terrified she would never know.

"Many years ago--it seems like only yesterday--I met a man I admired very much. A man that I'd only ever dreamed of meeting. I'd adored him from a great distance for a very long time."

"Who is he? Name him, Mother!" Her patience wore thin as each moment dragged. Lindsay's attention hung on each syllable that Beverly uttered. She turned the picture over and stared at it. Did she see any resemblance to herself in the kindly, sparkling eyes or the wide-open smile? Maybe she had his broad forehead?

"Be patient. I'm getting to that. Soon enough, you'll know everything." When Lindsay didn't answer, Beverly continued. "As I was trying to tell you, I met a very special man that I had no business meeting. It was a chance in a million that I'd even seen him in person much less met him. I think I loved him before I ever laid eyes on him." A deep sigh escaped Beverly.

"You're not making any sense, Mother. I don't understand what you're trying to tell me." Lindsay jumped to her feet, unable to sit any longer. Agitated, she slammed the picture face down on her desk. Pacing around her desk, Lindsay counted the seconds till her mother resumed her story.

"Let me finish, Dear, and you'll understand. All in good time. You've waited twenty-seven years. Another few minutes won't hurt you," Beverly said.

"That wasn't my choice!" Lindsay exploded.

"If you're going to treat me this way," Beverly warned, a hint of tears in her wavery voice, "we can discuss this when you're more civil."

"I'm sorry, Mother." Lindsay's sigh mimicked her mother's. "I feel as if you just told me that the human race evolved from ducks instead of apes. How could you have lied to me about who my father is?"

"I didn't expect you to take the news so poorly, Dear..."

"Poorly? I think I'm doing a smashing job at accepting your news! In fact, I'm doing a bang-up job of dealing with this psychologically traumatic episode. I write soaps, I work and live in a city that turns its eyes at every form of degradation known to man and yet I don't know anyone who's discovered that their father of twenty-seven years isn't really their father. No one who's real anyway..."

"You're overreacting a little bit, aren't you Dear? Writing for the soaps and being around all those actors has made you so high-strung."

A second more shocking, yet more logical thought came to Lindsay. She ignored Beverly's jibe in favor of asking what was uppermost in her mind. "Am I adopted? Are you my birth mother?"

"What kind of question is that to ask your mother?" After a pregnant silence, Beverly answered herself. "Of course I'm your real mother. What would make you think that I'm not?" Righteous indignation laced Beverly's words.

"Oh, I really don't know. Just that it might've explained what you just told me. If I was adopted, maybe you wouldn't have told me until now. But seeing that's not the case, why don't you tell me who my father was, I mean who he is. Were you married to him?"

"I've never been married," Beverly confessed.

"I'm illegitimate?" Lindsay laughed bitterly. After the first piece of news, this was just gravy. "Excedrin headache #299," she murmured under her breath.

"It wasn't like that," Beverly denied hotly.

"Then what was it like? I know!" Lindsay exclaimed. "Your fiancé got drafted and then he died in the Vietnam War before he could marry you? You spent one last glorious night together before he was shipped to Saigon--the night I was conceived. You were so heartbroken, you've never looked at another man ever since..." Lindsay spun herself a fantasy, something to explain her mother's ramblings. Something she could accept.

"There you go, getting all melodramatic again. Really Lindsay, your imagination will be the death of me yet. As I was telling you, I met the man of my dreams and he was even more wonderful than I'd ever imagined. He had the most gorgeous ebony eyes I'd ever seen. Bedroom eyes. His voice was rich and sultry. He was so charming."

"Who was he? I know! Frank Sinatra. He has bedroom eyes. No wonder you don't like actors." Lindsay couldn't resist the taunt. Sometimes her mother said the most ridiculous things. Lindsay twisted her new engagement ring on her finger, taking a measure of comfort in it. At least there were some absolute in the universe and her love for Jeff and his love for her was one of them. He would never fail her.

"Who, Dear?" Beverly sounded distracted again.

"I said Frank Sinatra, Mother. But as a horse frog would beat me hands down in a singing contest, he's obviously not my father."

"But your father has the most wonderful voice. Dreamy." Beverly's voice drifted away. Lindsay knew her mother was day dreaming again. She had to snap her out of it so she could find out who her father was. "Who is my father?" she asked as patiently as she could pretend. "You know, Mother. The man. The charming one with the bedroom eyes and the sultry voice."

"Oh, you mean Bobby Andrews?"

Something niggled at Lindsay's mind when she heard the name. Dread filled her, yet she wasn't quite sure why. She twisted her ring so hard she winced in pain. What had her mother said? She loved him before she met him. A million in one chance that she did actually meet him? As usual, Beverly was acting her erratic self, only giving out bits and pieces of information like a jigsaw puzzle with the crucial piece misplaced. But Lindsay suspected she knew what the piece of this puzzle was and she didn't want to know.

Blue Eyes would really be a wonderful father, she hoped in vain.

"Bobby Andrews?" Lindsay spoke very lowly, straining to keep her voice level. She didn't want to know but she had to k now. "As in Robert Andrews?"

"Yes Dear," Beverly said. "Bobby is short for Robert."

How could her mother sound so calm, now, when Lindsay's world was crashing about her feet?

"As in Andrew Roberts or more to the point, Drew Roberts? Jeffrey Andrew's father?"

"That's the one, Dear."

"Does he know that he's my father?" Before Beverly could speak, Lindsay choked on a sob she tried to withhold. "How ironic! This is one for the soaps! Only usually, it's fantasy, not the staff writer's real life in the dump. Don't you think you should have told me before things got so out of control?" Not trusting her voice, not trusting what she would say to her mother, Lindsay gently, almost reverently, cradled the phone in its holder. She couldn't deal with this. She needed time to think, space to breathe. Her chest felt tight.

She stared at the silent phone, neither knowing nor caring how long she posed in that manner.

She contemplated her left hand, the one where Jeff's dazzling engagement ring adorned her finger. The gorgeous diamond and emerald ring glittered magnificently, oblivious to the hurt it caused its owner. How could a cold piece of stone burn her skin so? It seemed to wink at her, to mock her foolishness. It became the symbol of all her suffering. Twisting it vigorously, she pulled it off, then threw it at the far wall. But it continued to twinkle where it landed, mocking her, and she couldn't tear her eyes from it's cold beauty.

How could it be? She had known that her mother had been inordinately infatuated with Drew Roberts since she'd been old enough to notice television. Yet, she had attributed the interest, no obsession, as being in keeping with Beverly's normal eccentricity. Never had she dreamed that Drew Roberts was her own father, that she was flesh of his flesh, created from his loins. He had wined and dined her, complimented her, and even competed with Jeff for her attention. She had thought it to be a harmless flirtation. Did he know he was her father?

If he was truly like his son, Lindsay could see how her mother could fall in love with Drew Roberts. He would be charm itself.

Jeffrey Andrews--her lover--her fiancé--her half-brother.

Half-brother!

He couldn't be! She put her face in her hands. The Jacuzzi taunted her.

Oh God, what had she done? Could she ever be forgiven such sins? Ignorance didn't necessarily excuse one from sins of this magnitude--did it? And what was worse, now that she knew who she was, knew their real relationship, she still loved him and desired him.

Decadence itself. Pure disgrace. If anyone ever discovered the horrible truth, she would be ruined. She could never live down such a scandal. She envisioned the headlines and winced.

Secret Incest!

No one could ever find out. She wouldn't allow it. Not even Jeff. Especially not her beloved Jeff! She would never put him through the pain or humiliation she knew this would bring him. She loved him too much to make him suffer so.

Jeff! Her heart broke every time she thought of him.

He awaited her at his villa with a candlelit dinner and soft music. His balcony would be open to invite the January stars and the twinkling lights of Southern California to shine on them. His Jacuzzi would be warm and bubbly and he'd have the saxophone playing distantly in the background as if the wind carried it to her as his gift. King Lear would serenade him with his crazy hodgepodge of off-key Elton John songs interspersed by his Jimmy Cagney gangster imitations.

But tonight she couldn't face him. Horrible as standing him up would be, it would be more horrible if he knew the real truth. If she saw him or heard his voice now, she'd break down. It was a chance she couldn't risk. Better to let him believe that she had stood him up, that she was a flighty eccentric like Beverly. In the long run, it would be less painful for him.

Grabbing her purse, Lindsay stood. Reluctantly, she scooped the ring from the floor and deposited it into her purse before flicking off her lights. Bending, she picking up a gold lipstick case. Turning it over in her hand, she didn't recognize it. Other more important things on her mind, she dropped it in her purse beside the ring, intending to hand it to the night guard on her way out of the studio.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lindsay couldn't face Jeff that night. Or any other night.

How could she tell him that Drew Roberts was her father too? That he, Jeff, was her half brother?

Lindsay contemplated the scene. It wouldn't be pretty. At first, he would accuse her of lying, tell her that her over-fertile imagination had gotten the better of her. He would probably laugh at her in that disdainful way of his. Then he would try to take her in his arms. And she might not have the will to resist him.

How could she stop loving him so easily?

That was just it. It wouldn't be easy. It would be the hardest thing she had ever done, would ever do, to write Jeff out of her life.

Oh, she supposed, he wouldn't be out of her life. He was her brother. He would be around at all the family holidays and barbecues. He would be an usher at her wedding and she would be a bridesmaid at his. Later, when they had children of their own, they would be godparents to each other's kids. All very nice, all very civilized…. it would seem that this episode, their love, their engagement, their illicit lovemaking had never happened. This would all seem like a chapter in a soap opera. Maybe Saffron could carry this situation off with aplomb and move onto the next man with merely a shake of her luscious hair, but she couldn't do it.

But she'd have to do it and do it well. What choice did she have? Surely this secret had remained secret for twenty-eight years now, so it would keep if she didn't tell anyone. Wouldn't it? She prayed so.

She'd have to find a way to get over Jeffrey Andrews, to accept him as her brother. Not only that, she'd have to continue working with him. At least for the time being, then maybe, she could find work on a different soap. But they'd still be in the same business, the same town. How far could she really hope to get away from him and still keep her career? No writing wasn't just her career, it was her life. Just as Jeff was. She needed both of them to be whole.

Now she understood how her mother got sick headaches. She had a doozy and she suspected this was only the beginning. Her stomach felt like she'd eaten way too many sweets. She pulled herself up reluctantly and stumbled over Brutus when she padded to the kitchen for some pain reliever and a bicarbonate to make the queasiness go away.

"I'm sorry Brutus," she crooned as he rubbed against her legs. He was probably hungry, but she needed his comfort more than he needed dry cat food. She scooped him into her arms and buried her face in his fluffy fur. He purred as if to say, Everything's all right. I'm here.

The phone rang again. It startled Brutus and he jumped from her arms before she could stop him. He crawled under the couch where she couldn't reach him without pulling the heavy piece of furniture out from the wall. "Coward," she quipped.

The blasted thing had been ringing off the wall--- undoubtedly, Jeff again. He had proven relentless. He'd been calling for days, that is, when he wasn't trying to burst into her apartment. She supposed he was justified after receiving the ring by courier with her terse note that she'd reconsidered and thought better of their engagement.

Why wouldn't he accept that things were over between them? Why did he have to demand a detailed explanation, an explanation she couldn't begin to give him? At least she couldn't give it to him now, possibly not for a very long time. Never, if she had her way. Why should he bear the humiliation she did? She would spare him.

Despairing over the hopelessness of the situation, over her breaking heart, she buried her face in her hands.

Why wouldn't the damn thing shut up? In a burst of anger, she stormed out of her chair, to the wall, yanking the cord from it.

The silence raged in her ears like an ocean that had receded for high tide and never returned. Blankly, she stared at the phone in her hands as if it were a demon. She threw it against the far wall, wincing as one of her vases fell to the floor, shattering into a million shards.

"You're not doing yourself any good this way," she muttered. She'd called in sick to Ken for the past week. He’d sounded more than a little suspicious. Supposedly, she was working at home, but everything that came out on her computer screen was too convoluted or morbid for even Secrets to air--like a Stephen King thriller.

Or maybe not. Did she really care anymore?

But she couldn't continue to mope forever. Moping wasn't part of her make-up. Hadn't she always been strong? Self-assured? Independent?

Well, it was about time to return to character, she mused.

The sooner the better.

Today, she would pull herself together, at least on the surface, drag herself into the studio and throw herself into her work.

With that in mind, she marched into her bathroom like a soldier preparing for battle. Rambo move over. She had decided to kick some serious butt!

She scrubbed her face clean until it glistened like a newly opened rose petal. Painstakingly, she painted her nails, put on her make-up and applied red, red lipstick. After phase one of her make-over, she surveyed her wardrobe, choosing her brightest business suit--a crimson linen creation that clinched tightly to a narrow waist and sported gold buttons down the front. To it, she added red Italian leather high-heels, gold tipped ear studs, a glittering gold ankle bracelet and necklace, and a red purse.

Looking in the mirror, she could hardly believe the transformation. Her make-up was almost so good one couldn't tell she'd been crying for days on end.

Almost.

It depended on how closely one looked and how well one knew her. But if she acted confidently enough, maybe no one would look that close.

She dared anyone to get that close.

Tossing her long curls behind her shoulders, she smiled crookedly at her reflection in the mirror, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, took a deep breath, and then marched to her destiny--before her resolve could desert her.

Why did she feel like she was marching right into the enemy camp?

*************************************************************

Wolf whistles followed Lindsay into the studio that afternoon. She ignored them, keeping her head high. She had to remind herself that only she knew of her shame.

Ken's office was on the route closest to her office, so she took a roundabout path, hoping to avoid him. Calling him would be easier than confronting him face to face. He knew her too well and would undoubtedly run into Jeff this way. She still wasn't ready to see him. That day would probably never come.

This had been a really bad idea, she admitted, when her nerves jumped like a live wire every time she spied a shadow or heard a new set of footsteps.

Running into Jeff would be inevitable here. Even if she didn't run into him in the halls or on the set, word would get around soon enough that she was back and he would storm into her office. Didn't he always?

Then what would she say? Tell him the story of Oedipus to ease into the shock? Tell him they had fared better than Romeo and Juliet?

You're a writer, she told herself. Surely you can invent something plausible? What had happened to all that witty repartee she gave her soap characters? At the very least she could borrow a line here and there? It would be better than saying nothing at all.

Just before she reached the sanctity of her office, an arm shot out and touched her gently, but she jumped as if a back draft had hit her.

"Whoa, young lady. What are you doing sneaking in here?" Ken's hands shot out and steadied her, one on each of her upper arms. "Let's go in your office. You're as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof. And you look about as good as Natalie Wood."

"Do you mean before or after her death?" Lindsay quipped.

"Aren't you supposed to be sick or something?" He walked over and closed her door, ignoring her last remark.

Lindsay smiled wanly. Words deserted her. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders, holding her hands up and out in a gesture of "I don't know." So much for putting on a brave front.

Ken circled in front of her, much as a bird of prey circles its next victim.

Lindsay watched in uneasy anticipation from her inferior vantage point.

"You know," he said, as he continued to circle, "scuttlebutt on the set has it that you and Jeff had another argument. Is that true?" His wise eyes scrutinized her. She knew he couldn't possibly miss her swollen eyes.

"That's a personal question, Ken. And out of your jurisdiction."

"Not if it interferes with the show!" He rounded on her, his voice booming.

Lindsay opened her eyes wide. She tensed for nuclear fall out.

Ken sucked in a deep breath. "That was uncalled for. But," he pointed at her, shaking a fleshy finger, "my actresses don't give me one-tenth the trouble you have recently. I've learned to handle their high-strung temperaments. You're supposed to be different!"

Angered, Lindsay jumped to her feet. "I'm not as good as they are now? I'm not as human? Or as feminine?"

"Settle down, Linds. You're taking my words out of context. But who was it that dragged me to the police station at two a.m. because she'd totaled her car while wearing nothing but a sheet soaked in wine, then got me into a tussle with Maxwell--only my favorite person in the world?"

Lindsay lowered her lashes. "I did."

"Yes. One of these days our picture will show up on the cover of the National Invader. I can't imagine why it hasn't already."

"Maybe because no one knows us?" she asked hopefully. "After all, in a land filled with famous personalities, you and I are nonentities."

"Thanks a mil for making me feel better," Ken said, smiling.

"Just returning the favor." She wrinkled her nose.

"Right." A serious light filled his eyes. "But what if we're wrong? What if Maxwell's only holding onto the story to make the most impact, when it will really hurt? Like right before the Daytime Emmy?"

"That would hurt, wouldn't it?" Lindsay thought about it. "But the last time he printed my face coast to coast it was only because it was linked to Gary. The story was really about him. Unfortunately, I was the one who came off looking like a total jerk."

Ken looked shame-faced.

"Did I say something wrong? Or did I just remind you what a troublemaker I really am?"

"You reminded me of something."

A loud knock interrupted him. Without waiting for invitation, the door was pushed opened.

Lindsay prepared herself for an angered Jeff. She held her breath and clenched her fists.

"Hello Darling! I see you made it back from the land of the dead? And smashingly so, if I do say so," Gary crooned. He looked as blond and debonair as ever.

Lindsay slumped and would have fallen unceremoniously on her butt if a pair of male hands hadn't caught her and brought her to his chest in a giant bear hug.

Looking over the man's shoulder, Lindsay's eyes met Ken's weary ones. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Is this the surprise you forgot to mention? Ted Bundy escaped?"

At a loss for words, Ken shook his head. He shuffled his feet.

"Don't just stand there darling. Give me a kiss to show I'm forgiven. For old times sake?"

"I'd rather kiss a tarantula." She smiled sweetly as she tried to extricate herself from his arms.

'You know you're glad to see me. And words can't begin to express how much I've missed you, darling."

"Have I slipped into the Twilight Zone or did I slide into another dimension?" Lindsay asked, rolling her eyes heavenward. She stared at Ken. "Tell me Ted's just visiting?"

Ken shook his head slowly. "I meant to tell you, Linds, but you weren't here all week. I didn't want to bother you when you felt ill. Besides," he added. "You weren't answering your phone. I suppose I should have E-mailed you to get your attention."

"I'm the new star of Secrets darling. You'll be writing for me again. We'll be a team." He squeezed her tightly, dipping his head for a kiss.

Rolling her eyes heavenward and groaning aloud, she bent out of his way. "Like Bonnie and Clyde?" she murmured. "That's all I need! Gary..."

"Well, well. The prodigal daughter has returned," a deep voice drawled, none too nicely.

Lindsay's gaze shot to the doorway.

Jeff lounged insolently against the door frame. His arms crossed over his chest and he didn't look none too pleased. Jack the Ripper would have looked friendlier.

Her words haunted her. That's all I need. Ironic, but as displeased as she was to see her former fiancé, his presence just might work to her advantage. If she had even one drop of Drew Andrew's thespian blood in her, now was the time she needed to call upon it.

Suddenly, it became achingly clear what she had to do. It was the coward's way out but wouldn't it be better than the truth?

Leaning against Gary's chest, snaking her arms around Gary's neck, she planted a lingering kiss on Gary's lips that her former fiancé was quick to reciprocate. When she finally broke apart, she glanced at Jeff.

His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. The set of his lips were firm and menacing. "What's the meaning of this Lindsay?"

"I think I'll come back later. At a better time." Ken, suddenly diplomatic, bowed out of the room, looking nervous as he passed Jeff.

"Coward!" Lindsay muttered under her breath. She wished she could follow her producer, only she wouldn't stop running, she'd keep right on going till she hit Coney Island--on the East Coast.

East Coast! She could go to New York. Soaps abounded in the Big Apple. Surely she could get a job with one of them. It was an avenue to pursue if she came out of this scene alive.

Ignoring Jeff's last remark, Lindsay adopted a regal smile. At least she hoped it was that. "Gary, this is Secrets other male star, Jeffrey Andrews, son of the great Drew Roberts. Jeffrey," she said his name icily, "this is my ex-fiancé, Gary Alexander. He's returning to Secrets."

Lindsay forced her hands to stroke Gary's thick blonde hair. Standing on tiptoe, she raised her lips to Gary's ear. "Pretend we're a couple again. Tell him, tactfully that we've been together all week. Play along with me and I'll make it worth your while." Moving back so she could see Gary's face, she searched his eyes. Trusting him was like trusting a double agent with the heavy water formula, but she had no other choice. And he no longer possessed the power to hurt her. She saw no other out.

"We've met," Jeff replied tersely, his gaze glued to Lindsay. "I've had enough of your games, Lindsay. It's time you told me what's going on." Gesturing to the other man with a backwards thumb, Jeff motioned for Lindsay to oust Gary. "In private," he growled menacingly.

"I'll tell you what's going on," Gary winked at Lindsay with the eye Jeff couldn't see.

"It's none of your business," Jeff rose to his full height. He stepped into the office.

"We see it differently," Gary said. "When I saw Lindsay again last week, I knew what's been missing from my life. It's taken a lot of convincing, a lot of apologizing to make her forgive me and give me a second chance, but now that I've done it, we don't appreciate your interference." To accentuate his words, Gary stroked Lindsay's hair, then bent for a leisurely kiss.

Lindsay forced herself to return it. But his lips felt cold. Nothing like Jeff's warm sensuous ones.

When she looked at Jeff, his fists clenched and unclenched. She read absolute fury in his eyes and countless questions.

He'd be prepared to hear just about anything except the real truth. And that she couldn't tell him.

"I want to hear it from Lindsay, in private," Jeff repeated.

"She doesn't want to be alone with you. From the looks of your temper, there's not a chance in hell that I'll leave her alone to face you." Gary could act to the hilt. Too bad, he hadn’t been so gallant in their real relationship.

"Lindsay." It was more of a command than a request.

"We weren't meant to be, Jeff. We had a wonderful time together, but please believe me when I say how sorry I am. I'm not in your best interests. I can't explain any further. Just leave. It's too painful to say any more." Her voice caught in her throat. She felt hot tears sting the backs of her eyes.

"Leave my foot!" he exploded. "I've heard better explanations from King Lear. Something's going on and I'm not going to rest until I find out what it is." Turning on his heel, he stomped out of the office. "You haven't heard the last of me," he yelled over his shoulder, his voice trailing off into he distance as he strode angrily down the hall.

"Do you care to tell me what's going on?" Gary turned puzzled blue eyes on her. "After all, how can I play my script right if I don't know what it is."

"Improvise," Lindsay snapped, pulling herself free of his embrace. "As I recall, you're very good at it." She smiled at him. "You're free to go too."

"That's right Lindsay Yvonne. Love 'em and leave 'em. I always knew you were a heartbreaker Lindsay, and it looks like you've graduated at the head of your class, Lady in Red."

Lindsay's anger snapped. Gary really was too much. "Look who's talking! Who walked out on whom two and a half years ago amidst a national scandal no less? You came out smelling like roses and I looked like the chump of the decade. You have a hell of a lot of nerve waltzing back in here like you own me, like I should fall all over you. You owe me, Gary Alexander." Lindsay backed her ex-fiancé against the far wall, her finger pointed in his chest.

"It's nice to know I can still provoke you to anger. I still have my charisma. You're still crazy about me, even if you won't admit it. It's Kismet!" With that parting remark, he sauntered form her office, whistling tunelessly.

Had he promised to help her or not? His supreme arrogance was more infuriating than ever. Why oh why had she had to fall in love with Jeff who was so different from Gary, from all the other actors? Jeff who was truly genuine and nice. He didn't deserve any of this and yet she was helpless to stop this. The contrast between Gary and Jeff was as daytime and nighttime television. It was like comparing Secrets to 60 Minutes.

"What tangled lives we weave," she muttered under her breath. Only this mess wasn't of her making. If only her mother had been honest with her all along she never would have been involved with Jeffrey Andrews. She never would have fallen in love with him. And she wouldn't be feeling this overwhelming guilt that was tearing her apart.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Surprisingly, Jeff avoided her as she'd demanded. It didn't mean that he didn't cast her many long, brooding looks. He did. His eyes spoke and asked volumes. Mainly, he seemed to be asking, "How could you do this to me?"

She didn't know what was more unbearable--the guilt, the heartache, or the shame.

A terrible wave of nausea hit her, and she doubled over in pain until the wave subsided. This had been happening every morning like clockwork. Horrible headaches blinded her every afternoon. Her monthly should have started three days ago.

Maybe it was all due to the tremendous stress she had undergone. Maybe...

Most likely, the worst had happened. What was Murphy's Law? The worst would always happen?

She couldn't deny the inevitable any longer. She was probably pregnant--with her brother's baby.

She rubbed her tummy thoughtfully, beside herself. Her mother had set her up for a modern day Oedipus complex.

Strictly pro-life, adamantly so, Lindsay couldn't even consider abortion as an alternative to fix this problem. But in this case, these extenuating circumstances, would a priest make an exception? She honestly didn't know.

First she had to find out if she was pregnant. Tonight, she'd stop at the pharmacy and get one of those error proof pregnancy tests and find out.

Why had her world become so painful? And confusing?

One thing she did know. She had to get out of here, especially now. Her contract came up for renewal right after the Emmy's and she'd be a free agent. If one of her stories won an Emmy, she could practically write her ticket to New York. She could work for The Daring and The Dangerous or Philadelphia.

And if she was pregnant as she suspected, she had to be hell and gone from California, go somewhere nobody knew her, whatever decision she made. No one could ever find out, not Ken, not her own mother--- especially not Jeff.

Still, why wait till after the Emmy's? She could contact the various shows now, get a feel for the level of interest she generated, and maybe even begin the negotiations. At the very least, it would give her something besides Jeff and a possible child to think about.

"Why so pensive, my dear?" A gentle voice crooned in her ear as a warm hand settled heavily upon her shoulder.

Chills shivered through her body. Drew Roberts, her father, perhaps her baby's double grandfather, was not only standing next to her, he had called her my dear and was touching her. It should be a natural thing for a father to do and yet it seemed so alien. She tilted her head back, looking up at him. Her voice was lost somewhere in the region of her heart.

"Why do you and my son look so forlorn lately? The last time I saw you, you were on top of the world." Without waiting for an invitation, Drew Roberts sat beside Lindsay. He turned to look her in the eye. His gaze seemed more perceptive than a high powered space camera.

Lindsay searched her father's face, looking for any hint of resemblance between them. She only saw Jeff. It all seemed so unreal, but it must be true. Her mother couldn't make up such a story, could she? That would explain the mystery of why she'd never met her father or even her father's relatives--her grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins...

She couldn't confront the issue and possibly be accused of extorting her own father for money and scandal either, could she?

Definitely not. Her baby would be marked for life--if there was a baby.

Excedrin Headache number 788 approached fast. She rubbed her temples in concentric circles with the pads of her fingers.

"You know your silence speaks for itself. Didn't you know that your eyes reveal your inner soul?" His voice was hypnotic, arresting her eyes, her spirit.

"No offense, Mr. Andrews, but you can't possibly know what's troubling me." Oedipus, why were we both so blind she wondered? Maybe if she could slip in and out of the real world like Holly Would slipped between the cartoon world and the real world, her situation might be predictable. But as it was...

Who'd have thought a boring soap writer's life could turn out so topsy turvy?

"Oh, I don't know. I pride myself in being a student of human nature." Taking her chin between his fingers, he turned her face to view various angles, then probed her eyes with his own, so like Jeff's. "I'd say you're confused, heartbroken, even a little angry. Am I right?" He lifted his eyebrows and smiled, not unkindly.

"You're right," she admitted, "to a point. But it's so much more involved, so damned impossible..."

"There's no reason for a beautiful woman like yourself to swear, my Dear. It's very unbecoming."

"I'm sorry, " she mumbled, feeling chastised. Maybe she didn't need that Tamagotchi daddy after all. "But I'm confused, Mr. Andrews." She raised wide eyes to his.

"I told you to call me Drew, remember?"

"Drew." It sounded strange on her lips although she'd said it a million times before, but never, ever to his face.

Patting her hand, Drew Roberts chuckled. "I'm concerned about you. You look sad, like the weight of the world is on your lovely, young shoulders."

"It is," she mumbled, twisting a strand of hair around her index finger.

"What can be so bad that you can't make up with Jeffrey? He loves you, you know. He can forgive anything. There's no need for either of you to be miserable. Kiss and make up. You might fight a bit, but you'll straighten things out."

"Not everything can be solved so easily. This isn't the innocent 1950's where the biggest problem is whose pin to wear. I'm not Sandra Dee or Doris Day and he's not Troy Donahue or Rock Hudson. This isn't Pillow Talk or even A Summer Place."

"It can't be as bad as all that, can it?" He leaned towards her and whispered conspiratorially, "You're not a mermaid like in Splash, are you?" he joked, trying to break the tension.

Lindsay sucked in a deep sigh. "I wish it was that simple." Before she spilled the thoughts closest on her mind, before she told him he was her father, before she really slipped and mentioned a possible child--probable child--Lindsay blurted out rather incoherently, "Did you know that my ex-fiancé returned to the set? He jilted me two years ago and he just waltzed back into my life as if nothing ever happened. He made me a national disgrace!"

Oh God! What if Maxwell learned of this latest development?

She didn't think she could live through a scandal of this magnitude.

The Big Apple looked better and better--her only real option. Or maybe she should leave the country and journey to London or Australia. Maybe she could find sanctuary in a monastery in outer Mongolia where she and her child would never have to see a television set for the rest of their lives. She'd write potboilers under a pen name.

"That's hardly as bad as you think, my Dear. You should be glad to have Jeffrey to protect you from him..."

"But it's not that easy!" Watch it, she warned herself. Don't say too much. This gentle, kindly man obviously didn't know he was her father and this wasn't the scenario in which to tell him. Besides, Beverly should be the one to tell him.

She could just picture the wonderful, touching scene. "Congratulations! You have a bouncing baby girl--by the way, she's 27 years old and pregnant with your grandchild. Have TWO cigars!"

"For what it's worth, I think you and my son belong together. You're a matched pair. He needs you."

Right. A matched pair like Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia--twins.

As she opened her mouth to speak, Drew Roberts laid a finger against her lips. "Don't say anything just now. Just think about what I've said. There's nothing you've done that can't be forgiven." He turned away, and then looking concerned, he turned back. "You aren't--ill--are you, my Dear?"

"Nooo. Do I look pale or something?" She tried to smile, to reassure him, failing miserably. She felt near breaking point. She really needed a take-out Chinese dinner right about now. Her fingers ached to E-mail Wong Fu's for some Shrimp Lo Mein.

Her nerves felt taut as a guitar string stretched too tight. More and more people noticed her recent pallor and her secret would be out in no time at all. Could she even keep it hidden until the Emmy's before she could catch the next train to Clarksville and blow this bourgeois motel?

She prayed Jeff hadn't heard about her morning nausea attacks or her afternoon headaches. She'd have to wear some of that heavy clown make-up that made Elvis look like Dick Clark, to hide the circles under her eyes and give her face more color.

Under her breath, she added, "It's not my sins that need forgiving..." Or were they?

Leaning over as lithely as if he were a young man, Drew Roberts kissed her on her cheek, at the side of her lips, on her freckles. "Think about what you're doing. I'd like to have you as a daughter."

As he walked away from her, Lindsay watched, tears brimming her eyes.

She presumed that is must have looked as if he'd kissed her fully on the lips, for at that moment, Jeff appeared, his expression black. Or maybe he'd been backstage, watching all along, putting his own interpretations on their innocent conversation. Purposefully, he strode to her, not sitting beside her as his father had, but he towered over her menacingly.

"You look rather sad for someone who's just made another conquest. Aren't you content with having me and your ex eating out of your hand? Now you have to add my father to your list?"

"It's nothing like that," she sighed, not up to this. "You don't understand--can't understand," she whispered.

"You're right. I don't understand. He's old enough to be your father. If it's a fortune you're after, you just had to be a little patient. I'll inherit it one day. Hell, you'd get anything you want right now. He's the most generous man there ever was. He'd treat you like his own daughter."

Having heard more than enough to last her a lifetime, Lindsay jumped to her feet. She knew that he had no idea what he had said, yet he had pushed her beyond her limit. She felt a little lightheaded. She shouldn't have jumped up so fast. Quickly, she put a hand on the back of her chair to steady herself, hoping he hadn't noticed how woozy she'd been a moment before. Luckily, she regained her equilibrium quickly and he was too angry to notice.

Not recognizing, maybe not caring, that the look in her eyes was murderous, Jeff continued his taunts. "Maybe you prefer the charms of older men? Tell me. What does he have that I don't? Sophistication? Fame? Charm?"

"Believe me, Andrews," Lindsay said from between clenched teeth," he has nothing on you and you're sorely mistaken. You're also making a scene," she hissed, smiling to alleviate the impression to gathering crowd that another fight was ensuing. "If you think this is helping anything, it isn't. I'm sorry that things didn't work out between us, sorrier than you'll ever know, but what we had was wrong--it wasn't meant to be and the sooner we end it, the better off we'll both be." Lindsay turned to walk away. Being so close to Jeff was much too painful.

"Lindsay!" His voice cracked. It had lost the anger of a moment before and the pathos she heard in it was nearly her undoing. She stopped but didn't turn to face him.

He walked up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders, drawing her back against him. In her ear he whispered so only she could hear, "Tell me you don't feel anything when I touch you--that I don't make you feel special--and I'll walk away." He waited, the silence growing thick.

Lindsay squeezed her eyes tightly shut, forcing the tears to stay within, forcing her body to stay rigid and not sink back into his as it longed to do, but she couldn't force lies out of her mouth. She couldn't tell him she didn't feel something special.

"You can't say it, can you? You feel this magic too. We belong together. Our engagement wasn't--isn't--a mistake. Can you forget the nights in our Jacuzzi? Or the Chinese restaurant and the fortune cookies? Can you?" He raised his voice when she didn't respond.

"No. I can't forget." She hung her head, her hair forming a curtain over her face. "I wish I could, but I don't think I'll ever be able to."

"For God's sake, Lindsay, if that's how you feel, we can work things out. Tell me what I did wrong--was it something I said or did? Something I didn't say or do?" His voice grew deeply serious. "I'll do anything..."

"It's nothing you did or didn't do. Nothing that you can do or undo," she murmured cryptically. "Just chalk it up to the sins of the mother..." With that, Lindsay screwed up all her strength, wrenching free of his grasp. Past caring what anyone thought, she ran to her office, turned on her Righteous Brothers' CD through her earphones so she couldn't hear the outside world and she proceeded to write her mushiest love scenes, most of which she wiped out later with a single key stroke.

That night, she stopped at the pharmacy on the way home and made a single purchase which she both anticipated and dreaded using.

She had never dreaded a plus sign so much in her life.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Having Gary on the set wasn't as bad as Lindsay would have assumed. He no longer held the power to hurt her. Not that he wasn't exasperating. He seemed to think that if he wore her down enough with kindness, attention and charm, that she would eventually forgive--and forget. That she would fall into his arms.

It seemed almost laughable.

And it suited her purpose. As long as he lavished attention on her, it kept Jeff at a distance. What did hurt was that Jeff seemed to think she could be so flighty as to pivot between him and Gary so quickly or that he might think she was stupid enough to trust Gary again.

C'est la vie!

She had to stop wondering what Jeff was thinking. If she didn't she would drive herself crazy. Besides, wasn't it she who wanted Jeff to believe that she preferred Gary to him? She couldn't have things both ways. Whatever happened, she couldn't let Jeff find out about their child. The home test had confirmed her worst fears and she'd followed it up with a visit to her obstetrician.

She was going to have Jeff's baby. What was she to do? She still couldn't decide, except that she had to get out of California for good and she had to do it fast before she started to show or let any more unintentional hints out that she was pregnant.

"Lindsay!" Ken called as he strode across the set to her. "How do you want Sabrina to play this scene?"

"What am I? The director now?" she half-joked. Pushing her hands on the arms of her director's chair, she stood in deference to him.

"Don't be so testy, Linds. You used to enjoy being consulted on these things."

"I'm sorry, Ken. I'm not myself lately." She chided herself for her defensive attitude.

He gave her a truly understanding smile. Taking her elbow in his hand in a fatherly fashion, Ken squeezed her arm. "Having Gary back can't be easy on you can it? Is that what caused the argument with Jeff?"

Shaking her head, pretending ignorance, Lindsay denied, "There was no argument. And," she paused as she struggled to find diplomatic words, "Gary's return is a real coup for Secrets. It's a pleasure to write for him again."

"Now, now. That's not what I asked, is it?" Ken shook his head. He propelled her forward.

"That information comes under the heading of personal business. A girl needs a few secrets to be mysterious."

Snatching a script from one of the actors, Ken thumbed through the pages until he found what he wanted. "Ah, here we are." He held the script under her nose, pointing to the stage directions. "You're a little ambiguous here. Is 'Bree supposed to be happy, sad, angry or indifferent at seeing Gary again? Should she run up and embrace him? Or should she slap him and call him a few choice names? Or should she either ignore him, or offer nice platitudes to him?"

"She sees her ex-lover, is a little skimpy on directions, isn't it?" Lindsay smiled sarcastically at her own mistake.

"Not to your usual high standards."

"I've had a lot on my mind recently."

"Never mind. We all have our off days. But do tell me, how did you intend for this to be played?"

"Uhm. There's such a wide range of possibilities, isn't there? Gary deserves to be knocked out cold, if you want my opinion."

"Why else would I ask? But do you mean Gary the person or his character?" Ken looked stern, but Lindsay could feel a smile hiding behind his facade.

"Both actually." She surveyed her newly manicured nails as she thought of different possibilities. It would serve her former fiancé right if she let Sabrina let him have it. And she didn't doubt that Sabrina would enjoy having permission to do as she pleased. After all, Gary had treated her shabbily too. This time, she felt sure that Sabrina wouldn't hesitate or deliver more than a weak slap. A smile curved her lips. "Have her," she glanced up in time to catch one of Jeff's brooding looks.

She had been going to say slap him, but that only satisfied her urge for revenge and she was sure there were many other avenues, and better times, for that. But as Jeff seemed inordinately interested in her decision, should she back off, treat Gary a little nicer? She wanted Jeff to think that she and Gary had renewed at least a portion of their former relationship. But if she let Sabrina kiss Gary or fawn all over him then Jeff wouldn't buy that either, would he? Unless after the scene, she acted jealous and fawned all over Gary herself.

Could she do it?

Would she put herself through it?

"Kiss him. Have her act like she's ecstatic to see her long lost lover. Then," Lindsay couldn't resist a deviously brilliant idea, "have her shove him away and slap him as hard as she can. Let's use a spin-off of the Marion line in that Indiana Jones movie. You know the one where she sees him again for the first time in ten years?"

"Yeah, I remember it," Ken sighed. "The one where she says something like, Why Indiana Jones. I always knew that someday you'd come walking through my door. I never doubted it. Then she hauls off and slugs him."

"That's the one," Lindsay said, smiling sweetly.

"I think we'll leave out the slap this time," Ken said. "If I let you do that, you'd have to start running for shelter now. Gary's not bound to like it any more than Jeff did. Remember the last Tarzan scene you two pulled..."

"Don't remind me," she muttered. She didn't want to think about Jeff.

Sabrina enacted the scene without the slap and Lindsay breathed a sigh of relief.

"Aren't you going to tell Ken that 'Bree should slap Pretty Boy?" Jeff's voice, his breath blowing hot in her ear, made her jump.

Her arms crossed over one another, her hand covered her heart.

"What’s the idea of scaring me half to death?" Lindsay accused, stepping hurriedly away from him. She wasn't sure if her heart was pounding from fright or desire. Putting her hands on her denim clad hips, she tried to put on a brave front. At least she didn't look pregnant yet and it wasn't time for her afternoon headache. "Look Andrews..."

"I'm looking," he said. "And you used to call me Jeff in the most delicious way--and places. Remember?" he drawled sarcastically. His eyes perused her slowly, lingering too long in certain places and she felt heat rush to her cheeks. He cupped her cheek with his hand and she stepped back. His touch burned like a live wire.

"We have to work together, but if you're conceited enough to think that every word I write has a personal meaning in it for you, your ego is way over inflated. Not everybody lives for praise from the great Jeffrey Andrews!"

"I know you, Luscious Lindsay. Obviously, your ex, or whatever he is." He paused and glared at Gary. "Doesn't know you as well as he thinks he does..."

"That's not what you said the other day. You don't know me either. Not one little bit."

Drat the man! He had the power to infuriate her and charm her simultaneously. Arguing served no purpose. It could be harmful to the baby if she got too upset.

"Oh! What’s the use? There's no point in talking to you." She fled before Jeff could stop her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It might help to have a heart to heart with someone else she knew, she realized awhile later when she had calmed down.

She sucked in a deep breath and admitted the inevitable.

It was time to stop avoiding her mother, to start forgiving and to learn the truth of her existence.

Instead of going home to her empty apartment after work, she headed southwest in her rental car. An orange-gold sun shimmered high in the sky, making the valley unseasonably warm.

A roadside vendor approached her with bunches of beautiful roses when she stopped at a traffic light. Hoping a bouquet of her favorite yellow roses would soften Beverly's mood, she dug in her wallet for eight dollars. On second thought, Lindsay bought two dozen. Still, she felt apprehensive broaching the subject she had worked so hard to ignore for the better part of the past two weeks.

When she turned into Beverly's driveway, she took a deep breath. The sea blue curtain fluttered in the front bay window and she knew that Beverly had seen her arrival. There was no going back now. She had to face the music.

Before she reached the front door, it swung wide. Beverly stood framed in the door with her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed. She was wearing a lime green jumpsuit imprinted with daisies and heavy yellow cork clogs.

Lindsay held out the roses to Beverly and kissed her cheek. "For you Mother. Your favorite."

"I see you've come crawling back with your tail between your legs, Lindsay Yvonne Jordan. What have you to say for yourself, avoiding your mother the way you have?" She let the screen door slam unceremoniously behind them, pivoted on her clogs and marched to her living room--also known as the Drew Robert's shrine.

Lindsay winced. "That sounded like the San Andreas collapsing," she muttered under her breath.

Incredulous that Beverly could take the offensive after everything that had happened, Lindsay stared at her backside for a moment with her mouth agape. She thought of a few choice remarks, then thought better of it and shut her mouth. A nasty argument would serve no purpose. She had come to find the truth and even more importantly, try and heal the wounds this rift had caused. At least a little bit.

"I haven't come crawling anywhere, Mother," Lindsay said slowly, choosing her words with great care. "I've come to apologize for my--distance in the past few weeks."

Beverly started to interrupt, but Lindsay held up her hand, silencing her. She had a few things to say before Beverly spoke. "I can tell you're angry and I get the impression you think you're the injured party here, but quite frankly, Mother, I don't understand. I'm the one who's just been told that the man who was supposed to be my father isn't my father and that another man is. You expect me to take this news in stride and sympathize with your feelings?" Lindsay paused, out of breath. She thought of everything this belated revelation had cost her, of what it meant to her unborn child, and she continued, "This is all new to me. You've had years to learn to deal with this and you seem to think I should absorb it and accept it in the space of five minutes!" She felt like she might hyperventilate she felt so hot and her stomach started to feel queasy even though the clock read six-thirty p.m. She clutched her stomach and sank into a chair.

"Are you going to be okay, Dear?" Beverly said in alarm. "Oh, my, my. Don't faint on me." She crossed the room and put her arms around Lindsay's shoulders. She looked contrite and genuinely worried.

"I'll--be--fine. Just--give--me--a--moment," Lindsay huffed. She leaned her head against her mother's bosom, taking comfort as she had when she was a little girl. Taking deep breaths, she concentrated on trying to breathe normally.

"Can I get you anything?" Beverly sounded worried. "Water? Medicine?"

"Water would be nice." Lindsay smiled weakly. When Beverly rose to fetch the water, she finger combed her hair to put it back into some semblance of order.

Momentarily, her mother bustled back into the living room with the water. She handed it to Lindsay.

Lindsay took it and sipped as if she were a small girl at a make-believe tea party.

Beverly arranged the roses in a vase she had brought from her kitchen, and then sat opposite Lindsay. Lines of worry etched her forehead. The corners of her lips turned downward. "I've been considering what you said before your attack and I must admit, I hadn't thought about things in quite that way before."

Looking curiously at her mother, a mother she had always had trouble understanding, Lindsay asked, "How had you looked at things, Mother?"

"I've had to cope with being a single mother for years," Beverly murmured, her lips trembling. She smoothed her skirt over her knees. "I have no one to love me. My life is meaningless, boring, unlike your glamorous career. No one knows that I even exist. I wanted your sympathy. You're my only child, my only daughter. I need your support. I've shouldered this burden alone for years. It's time I had help."

The oppressiveness of feeling like a mother to her own mother again, threatened to engulf Lindsay. She loved her mother dearly. Of course she knew her mother existed. Hadn't she always shown it? She appreciated the fact that Beverly had raised her alone, had always given her an abundance of love and affection, had seen to all her physical needs, yet she felt too needy herself at this point to fulfill Beverly's emotional emptiness. But she would do what she could.

Simply, she said, "I love you, Mother." Rising, she went to her mother and gave her a big hug, letting Beverly lean on her shoulder this time.

After a time had passed, Lindsay drew back and sat opposite her mother again. She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger. This wouldn't prove easy. Beverly's feelings were too bare, too sensitive, not to mention her own, to have an honest heart to heart on this subject.

Yet she need to know the truth--the whole truth. Maybe, there was a hole in her mother's story somewhere. It wasn't that she wanted to make her own mother out to be a liar. But God couldn't be so cruel as to make Jeff her half-brother. She prayed that this all be a nightmare--something from which she would awake to find a sunny day and God's blessing on her union with Jeff and on this child.

"Mother." Her eyes fell on the black velvet painting of Drew Roberts and a piece of his scarf that Beverly had torn from his shoulder at a concert more than fifteen years ago in Las Vegas. Sconces flickered candlelight before the black velvet portrait and it felt as if Drew Robert's gaze shifted, watching them. Shivering, wrapping her arms around herself protectively, she looked away.

"Yes, Dear?" Beverly lifted wounded eyes to her daughter's probing gaze.

"I know this is hard for you, but believe me, it's very difficult for me too. I need to know the truth. I need you to tell it to me."

"What do you mean? I've told you who your father is," Beverly murmured.

"Are you sure that Robert Andrews slash Drew Roberts is my father?" Lindsay’s heart lodged in her throat. She reached out and fingered a waxy yellow rose petal.

"Are you accusing me of lying?" Beverly's voice rose animatedly. She wrung her hands together.

"No. Not lying. I know you wouldn't do that. But could you be mistaken?" she whispered, clasping her mother's hands in hers. "Could you have wished so much for this to be true that you imagined that he's my-my father?"

"Now you're saying that I'm crazy!" Beverly snatched her hands out of her daughter’s, stood up and paced the floor like a caged mountain lion.

"That's not what I meant either, Mother. I'm not saying this right. It's just so important--you can't realize how important--that he's not my father." She almost whispered the last. She didn't expect that her mother could hear her faintly spoken words.

"Are you in love with Drew Robert, Lindsay?" Beverly spoke, sharply forcing Lindsay's head to snap up.

Before she could say anything, her mother continued, "I warned you not to fall in love with an actor. I know that he's been on your set visiting that son of his."

"I've met Drew Roberts. He's a very charming man. But I'm not in love with him."

Beverly sighed in relief and turned to face the black velvet portrait.

Lindsay felt miserable. As usual, her mom lived in her own little world. She only thought of Drew Roberts. That was probably for the best. She couldn't even tell her mother her secrets. If she suspected that she was in love with Jeff or pregnant, there was no telling what would happen or what would be said, perhaps unforgivable things on both sides. She didn't want to risk that. Her secrets had to remain secret from even her own mother. Later she would explain, when she felt more under control.

"Are you sure that he's my father?"

"Why do you keep asking me that? Of course I'm sure of a thing like that!" Beverly twirled one of the daisies that adorned the neckline of her pants suit.

"Please tell me how you met him, how I came to be." She splayed her hands helplessly before her. "I really need to know."

"It's really very painful Lindsay. Can't we do this another time?"

"No!" Lindsay fairly shouted, the vehemence in her voice even startling her. Then more softly, for she hadn't meant to shout at her own mother, "I need to know now."

"I'm feeling quite weak. Perhaps I can fix us something to eat?" Beverly tried to sidestep the issue at hand.

Lindsay glanced at her watch. Eight p.m. She had been rude to keep her mother from her dinner and it wasn't good for the baby that she hadn't eaten in quite awhile. "Just sit here and I'll whip something up." She didn't feel like eating more than chicken soup anyway.

"That would be lovely, Dear. But nothing too heavy or I won't be able to get to sleep tonight. I just bought some lovely watercress. Maybe a salad."

Lindsay smiled wryly. Sleep? What was sleep? She hadn't been able to sleep since Beverly's revelation almost two weeks ago. She lifted her hand to her cheek and touched the heavy make-up she'd taken to wearing under her eyes to hide the dark circles.

Something had to change. Hopefully her mother would give her some tidbit of information that would help her tonight.

But Lindsay wasn't able to glean any really helpful insight on her mother’s earlier revelations. When her mother had told her how she'd met Drew Andrews, Lindsay didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Supposedly, Beverly had met him at a party--one of those wild Hollywood things, back during her brief career as a chorus girl. He'd approached her, charmed her, seduced her and they'd had a whirlwind fling--then he'd left without a word. She'd never seen the man again--- except in his movies or on stage. Beverly swore that she'd never been with another man in her life and she'd become indignant when Lindsay had questioned her about her love life. And yes, she was sure the man had been Drew Roberts.

Lindsay wanted to hang her head and cry. Her own existence felt so insubstantial. There seemed no reason for her being. That is unless Beverly wasn't telling the entire truth. But try as she might, she couldn't get her mother to change her story. Finally, she decided that Beverly was telling the truth as she remembered. Knowing her mother’s eccentricity, she shouldn't be surprised at anything she heard. Her mother was unusual to say the least. The very least.

But that did nothing to alleviate her problem. She couldn't ask Drew Andrews if he could verify or disavow the story because how could he remember whether or not he'd had a fling with her mother? Besides, he'd probably had many and he couldn't be expected to remember a woman he'd only known for a few nights some twenty-eight years ago.

Short of asking the man for a DNA comparison test, how could she know for sure? And then, the genetic testing would tell everybody she was pregnant.

Oh no. And have Maxwell publish the test results?

Certainly, her mother must know a thing like this. What did Beverly have to gain by making up such a story? And what a story Maxwell could make of this! Brother and Grandpa Sued For Paternity or Oedipus Visits Secrets.

No matter how she pondered this situation, it looked bleak. She wasn't likely to stop loving Jeff any more than the moon would fall from the sky. Suddenly, she knew that the only possible solution was the one she'd been kicking around for some time now.

New York.

She had to leave, get away from Jeffrey Andrews and Drew Roberts just as fast and as far as she possibly could--as soon as she could. And she couldn't possibly do it before the Emmy Awards Ceremony. Although it was fast approaching--only another two weeks--it couldn't be soon enough to suit Lindsay. She didn't think she'd be showing that soon, but she still felt nervous as a debutante at her first ball.

What if someone noticed? Common sense told her it would take at least that long to pack her belongings and give Ken notice. Two weeks wasn't really legally long enough to give notice to her landlord. Her mother would feel devastated and betrayed, but she had to do what was best for herself and the child. How could she possibly think of keeping this child? And yet, all she did was think about the welfare of this child and its father.

First thing when she arrived at the set the following morning, she'd lock herself in her office and call the New York producers to which she'd been speaking privately for the past few weeks. She'd try to firm a deal.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Ken?" Lindsay stood at the threshold of her boss’s office hesitantly.

"Uhm?" Ken studied a stack of papers in front of him, not looking up. She could see his bald spot more clearly than ever at the angle his head was tilted. The Rocky Mountains were more pronounced. "I'm swamped with work right now, Linds. Can I catch you later?" He sounded absent-minded.

"I just need your ear for a minute." Tentatively she stepped inside the office. Her voice held a note of tenacity. If she didn't follow through now, she might lose her nerve.

Ken lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. "Just a minute. Bruce wanted this stuff yesterday." When she hesitated, he said, "Come in. Come in."

She did as she was bade, sauntering to the front of Ken's desk. All the time he watched her, a somber expression on his face. Taking a deep breath, she stuck a folded letter under Ken's nose.

"What's this?" Ken looked at the paper suspiciously. His eyebrows knitted together in a frown as he accepted it. "Don't tell me you're resigning?" he said, even before he opened it.

"How’d you know?" She spoke softly, sadly. Her heart dropped to her knees. Secrets felt so much a part of her this felt like an amputation.

"Let's just say you haven't seemed very happy this past month and I've seen a few resignation letters in my time. I've been afraid of something like this."

"I'm sorry, Ken." She hung her head, her long hair forming a curtain around her face.

"Why are you leaving, Linds?" Ken pushed his paperwork aside, motioning silently for her to sit before him. He opened the paper and read the brief resignation.

Gratefully, she accepted his offer, thankful to be off her feet. Her fingers dug into the arms of her chair as she grasped it for support. At first, words eluded her. Secrets meant a lot to her. She had poured her soul into its creation and production. Leaving it wrenched her gut, like leaving part of her spirit behind--one of the most important parts.

"My reasons are very personal, Ken." She held her chin high.

"Talk to me, Linds. I'm your friend. Maybe I can help." He tapped the end of his gold pen on his desk and gazed into her eyes.

"No one can help this. Unless you have a time machine."

Leaning forward on his elbows, Ken peered into her eyes. "We'll never know unless you tell me. Your confidences are safe with me. You can trust me."

"I trust you with my life. You know that." She leaned forward and put her hand over Ken's. "But this isn't my secret to tell anyone--not even dear friends like you."

"It effects this show and it effects me!" He slammed his fist on the desk. "I don't want to lose you. Secrets can't afford to lose you.--Say, what if I get you a raise? Would that help?"

She winced. "I'm truly sorry Ken--it's not about money. If there was any other way." She spread her hands before her helplessly.

"All of this started when Gary returned." Ken’s eyes narrowed. "You seemed so happy. Does it have something to do with your ex?"

"I'd rather have never seen him again," she said slowly, "but, believe me, he has nothing to do with my decision to leave. I'm over him and he can't hurt me anymore."

"Then what? Who?" His brows knitted together. "Andrews?" He jumped from his seat, pacing behind his desk. His gaze riveted on her, pinning her to her seat. "If he's done anything to hurt you, to make you think you have to leave, I'll..."

"N-nooo." Her denial rang false even to her own ears. "Why should he have anything to do with my leaving?" Lindsay had meant to sound confident, light-hearted, but her reply came out as anything but. She lowered her eyelids to hide her anguish.

"Did you and he have another argument?" Ken rubbed his bald spot with his open palm.

She nodded silently.

"Is he hassling you about his scripts again?" Ken shook his head no this time. "That can't be it. You're a veteran at handling actors and actresses. You thrive on their opposition. So what can it be?" he mused lowly. "You'd merely try to talk me into making Elvis his daddy or something. Oh--I forgot, Elvis already plays his father."

"My life is not a guessing game. I said that my reasons are personal and I meant it!" She seethed with fury.

"But if I can fix it, won't you give me the opportunity to try?" He rubbed his head with more fervor.

"If I thought you could fix this, I'd have come to you a long time ago." She chewed her lower lip. "But the only solution to this is for me to put as much distance between Secrets and myself as I possibly can."

"What are you planning Linds?" Putting his hands on the back of his chair, Ken leaned on them, regarding the woman before him.

"I have a good offer in New York--too good to turn down. They'll give me enough time to wrap up ends here after the Emmys. Then I'll be off."

"Who is it? I know I can get Bruce to top any offer they've made. And as soon as the Emmys are over, we'll give you an extended vacation to think things over--say six weeks? You've been working yourself to death. After a rest and time alone to sort things out, I'm sure everything will look different." He warmed to his idea, a hopeful gleam lighting his eyes. "Say you'll give me a little time to work out the details?"

Time--her scarcest commodity. Precious time.

"All this trouble for a mere writer who causes you ten times the trouble of one of your temperamental actresses?" Lindsay teased. "I thought you'd be relieved to be rid of me before I wrecked your set for good."

"I didn't mean that," Ken quickly defended himself. "I was just agitated."

"By one of my many stupid stunts?" Lindsay finished smoothly. A smile cracked her lips for the first time that afternoon.

"Stop putting words in my mouth young lady. You're making conversation impossible," Ken warned.

"Ken," she said gently, her heart breaking, not just for Jeff, but for her mother, for Secrets and for Ken, and most of all for her unborn child. "If there was any chance at all, I'd take you up on your offer. But this situation is hopeless. I've done nothing but look at all possibilities and this is my only solution. Do you think I want to leave Secrets or you? This is my life! I've poured my heart and soul into my stories and my characters. I stayed through the whole ordeal with Gary and 'Bree before when things got tough. I'm not a quitter. But," she sighed, beaten, "there is a time to quit, to cut your losses and move on. This is that time for me."

She stood a little unsteadily, with intent and purpose guiding her. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she ran to Ken, wrapped her arms around him in a huge hug. Standing on tiptoe, she planted a kiss on his cheek. Ken's arms caught her when she lost her balance and would have fallen. He dropped a brotherly kiss on her cheek as he squeezed her back.

When she turned to go, she stopped dead in her tracks. Jeff was standing in the open doorway of Ken's office. His expression was thunderous--his right eyebrow quirked crookedly and his face was etched in a deep frown. He looked downright dangerous.

Something in her died--what little something that had dared to live after she had discovered her mother's secret. It was clear what Jeff thought of the embrace he had just witnessed, what he thought of her. His opinion was written all over his face.

"So should the murdered look and so should I. Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty. Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, as yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere..." Jeff quoted Shakespeare from A Midsummer's Night Dream in a resounding baritone as if he were on stage for an audience of thousands. He held a hand to his heart in mockery.

Even though he was forever forbidden to her, even though she planned to disappear from his life forever, his mockery hurt immeasurably. He knew Ken was married and very much in love with his wife. He knew that she and Ken were best of friends--like brother and sister almost. She bit her lip--wrong analogy under the circumstances. And he knew her--at least he should.

But it was clear from his black regard that he questioned all that. First he had accused her of reconciling with Gary--that she had to admit was of her own making--then he had accused her of seducing his--her--own father--now he thought that she and Ken...

It was too inconceivable.

Uttering a strangled cry, she tore herself from Ken's arms, pushed roughly past Jeff, eluding his outstretched hand by ducking, and ran to her office.

"Lindsay stop!" Jeff commanded. "Talk to me!"

"Go talk to--to--oooh!" she seethed, unable to think straight. "Go talk to William Shakespeare!"

"He's dead and buried." Jeff looked at her as if she’d gone daft.

"Exactly!" She heard his footsteps following her and sped up. Fearing that he might catch up to her, she barricaded herself into her office and furiously started working on wrapping up her story lines.

The sooner she finished her work, the sooner she could escape to New York and never have to see Jeffrey Andrews again!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Stardust, twinkling lights and sequined starlets filled the crazy, magnificent night known as the Daytime Emmy Awards Ceremony. Lindsay strode into the magnificent auditorium, her manicured hand on Gary's arm. She wore a dazzling red creation that made up for in its length what it lacked in its almost non-existent bodice. Beverly probably would have approved of her choice of dress tonight, she mused wryly. Luckily, her tummy was still flat as a board, for which she felt eternally grateful--thus her deepest secret was safe for the time being.

Secrets make-up artists had lavished their efforts on her for once and although Elvis had been right, that it felt like plaster of Paris, Lindsay felt gorgeous--glowing in fact--like a starlet herself. Her hair, coaxed into long, full ringlets, bounced just above her waist. Her luscious ruby red lips and matching manicured nails did wonders for her ego. It felt a far cry from her normal faded denims and sweaters.

She knew that the effect worked wonders for her as many heads turned her way. That must be quite an accomplishment considering the room was filled with gorgeous starlets that surrounded her on all sides. It must be true that expectant mothers glowed--even if they felt as unhappy as Jonah in the belly of the whale. But then tonight, she was excited, if for other reasons. But even though the admiration of unknown men boosted her ego, the one man, the only man's admiration that she wanted, was forbidden her in the book of life.

"Are you Tiffany from One Life to Lose?" a young blonde girl gushed at Lindsay's side. She looked up at Lindsay, stardust in her eyes. The young woman stuck an autograph book and psychedelic tie-dyed pen under her nose. "You're even prettier in real life," she gushed. "Will you sign my book?"

Lindsay shook her head and smiled. "I'm not Tiffany," she said.

"Who are you then?" the girl asked, perplexed. Light shone in her eyes. "I know!" she blurted out, "you're Amanda from San Francisco Streets! I'd know you anywhere."

"I'm not even an actress," Lindsay said. "I'm a screen wri..."

The girl dismissed her and turned to Gary. Her long blonde hair slapped Lindsay's wrist. Lindsay felt about as big as a Lilliputian next to Gulliver. This was her just deserts for hanging out with actors.

The teen put her hand on Gary's arm. "I know you, you're..."

"Ted Bundy," Lindsay supplied sarcastically.

Gary flashed her a look of pure devilment. She'd end up paying for her impertinence, but it had been worth it.

Lindsay beamed. Maybe this night wouldn't be so bad after all. It might actually turn out to be fun.

"Peter Young from Secrets," the girl gushed. "You're sooooo handsome." She swooned. "Can I have your autograph Peter?"

Gary sent Lindsay a glance of "Help me!" She couldn’t help but chuckle at his discomfiture. He signed the girl's book, then took Lindsay's elbow and propelled her across the room at double speed.

Jeff, she noticed from beneath eyes veiled by her long lashes, was escorting a glamorous Sabrina Katz. It sickened her the way that Sabrina clung to him, the way 'Bree fawned all over him--until she caught the pained glances that the actress sent her own escort's way. So--the renowned Ms. Katz was still carrying a torch for Gary Alexander. What a tangled web they wove. How pathetic for all of them.

Empathy welled deep inside her heart, surprising her, easing her jealousy, unable to ease her breaking heart. Whoever would have thought that she and Sabrina would have anything in common? The sisterhood of unrequited love.

Then she caught a glimpse of her own mother in a long mirror. Beverly was wearing another of her creations from her Embarrass Lindsay line--an even lower cut evening gown than Lindsay's with high slits up the side to her thighs. The gown was covered in fuchsia and lime green sequins with sunny yellow feathers on the bosom. To top it off, she was wearing a lime green felt hat with huge peacock flumes sticking out the back. But that didn't really worry Lindsay much.

What did worry Lindsay was the way Beverly hung slightly behind her and Gary, occasionally chancing looks around them in Jeff's direction. Following one of her mother's covert gazes, Lindsay saw it led directly to Drew Roberts, who had accompanied his son and Sabrina. The expression on her mother's face was classic--one Lindsay knew so well and yet--different. It wrenched at Lindsay's heart. How often had she witnessed and laughed away the utter adoration on her mother's face whenever she'd watched a Drew Roberts movie or listened to one of his tunes on her old long playing records? That same expression was here now, but it was not the same as it was contorted by grief and longing. If Lindsay had ever doubted her mother's story about her own existence, the look of sheer desolation and heartbreak Beverly wore tonight was more than enough to make a believer of her. Subconsciously, she found herself shielding her mother from Drew Roberts.

"The big night is finally here," Gary whispered in Lindsay's ear. His fingers danced down the open V at the back of her dress, tickling her. She shuddered. But was it from his unwanted physical contact or the eerie sensations that were overtaking her? The room was charged with negative energy, overlying the excitement and anticipation that always ruled these events.

"D-Day," she whispered back, her gaze roaming the hall. Mentally, she took herself to task for such silly thoughts. Nothing evil was going to happen here tonight. Certainly it was unpleasant under the circumstances but only she and Beverly knew why and she defied anyone to read their thoughts. The worst that could happen would be to lose one or all of the Emmys, and face it, not everyone could win.

Didn't she know that lesson well? For the past three years her story lines had been nominated, but she'd not won yet. She knew that this year's story line was better, more stimulating, higher rated, better conceived and written, yet who could predict the judges' whims, their likes and dislikes? Not she. She couldn't even control her own destiny much less their actions.

"Chin up," Gary murmured. "You're going to win this time. I can feel it."

"Maybe what you feel is an earthquake." She was glad she could joke with her ex-fiancé again, that they could be friends.

It seemed like the evening lasted an eternity, one which she couldn't wait to end--when in actuality, she had barely been in the building ten minutes and she'd not even found her table yet.

She chuckled, finding humor in her dread. This was the night, the event she'd anxiously awaited all year, that she'd worked so hard to make a good showing, that she'd looked forward to more than any other, and now, all she could think about was when could she escape. How ironic. Maybe one day, when it hurt less, she could use such a scene in one of her stories--but not now. The wound felt too raw.

For now--perhaps forever--she'd have to put on a brave face, smile and pretend to be happy when she felt devastated. She couldn't let Jeff know just how badly she wanted him, how much she loved him or that her child was also his. Nor could she betray her mother's secret that Drew Roberts, Jeff's father, was her father too.

Hold on only a little longer, she kept telling herself. Then you can lose yourself in New York. You can leave forever after tonight. If only she had ruby red slippers like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, she could tap the heels three times and fly away home to Kansas--in this case, her new home in New York, just as soon as the ceremony ended.

But it looked like tonight would last forever. Lindsay looked anywhere, at anything, except at Jeff and her father. She studied the glamorous gowns, looked for the cast of her new soap in New York, Steamy Southern Nights, amusing herself with recognizing faces of her favorite stars. "Look!" she told Gary, feeling like the star struck teen who had gushed all over Gary, "isn't that Jasper Gilbert, the one who's been married eleven times?"

"On screen or off?" Gary asked, smiling.

"Both, I think." Lindsay laughed, her hair bouncing around her hips. "He thinks he's a real ladies man. Like someone else I know." She looked pointedly at Gary.

Gary grimaced. "I guess I'll never live that down. And I guess I deserve it." He lifted his hand and pointed, "Isn't that Heather Yarborough? The one who went mountain climbing, fell ten thousand feet then gave birth to triplets?"

"And Hollywood Lives thinks they're going to win the Emmy for best story line with that this year?" She flipped her hair behind her, catching Gary in the face. "Right."

She let her gaze wander around the hall and watched the excitement on the faces of all the familiar stars and the not so familiar behind the scenes cast members. Still, her glances kept straying back to Jeff and her father.

It felt so strange to have both her parents in the same room. They may not be sitting side by side, but their presence was definitely daunting. She had lived her whole life not having a father, and suddenly, he was here, just a few feet from her, looking suave and debonair--almost everything she had ever dreamed of having in a father--and yet she wished with all her heart that anyone else but him was dear old dad. She'd even take a Tamagotchi daddy instead.

Casts and crews sat together. Secrets had been allotted six large tables. Everyone had been allowed to bring one guest, and her guest was Beverly. Some, like Gary who had no dates, came with other crew members. With so many tables to choose from, she would have thought that she would get a table away from Jeff. But she had reckoned without Sabrina, or Drew Roberts.

"Let's sit with Ken and Genie," she whispered to Gary. "There's only five seats left. Hurry." Jeff and his party were still milling about. With only two seats left, there wasn't room for Jeff, Sabrina and Drew Roberts.

"Look at that gown," Gary murmured and he turned in awe, his eyes huge as saucers. "Daisies and peace signs." He shuddered. "I think we're in a time warp. I bet she won't end up on the best dressed list." He pulled Lindsay's chair out for her.

Lindsay laughed. Then her spine tingled oddly. Her hair rose on the back of her neck. When she looked up, her gaze clashed with Jeff's dark, brooding eyes.

Heavens! Jeff was the most handsome man in the room. It wasn't fair! And why was he so broody? She was the one with the broken heart.

His dark hair gleamed, feathered back in his own sophisticated style. His dark blue tuxedo accentuated his dark skin and ebony eyes. His diamond cufflinks exchanged beams with the chandelier overhead, looking like a laser show. He stood head and shoulders above the rest, his stature proud and domineering. His smile held all the charm he and their father was famous for worldwide, but tonight, as it had for the last month, it belied a hardness, a sardonic twist that she felt sure only she detected.

Why was he so quick to judge her every time he saw her talking to a man? A sharp stab of pain cut her, forcing her to avert her eyes before he noticed. But she felt certain that he must have seen, must have felt the electricity sizzle between them. It hung too thick, too heavy for him not to have felt it.

Drew Roberts had obviously felt it too. As Jeff turned abruptly to his dinner partner, bending his head to Sabrina's, her father strolled around the table, stopping between her and her mother.

Lindsay shuddered, an inaudible breath escaping suddenly parched lips. Jeff instantly fled from her mind. Her parents stood side by side, something she had never seen, something she had never anticipated seeing. Whereas her mother looked ready to flee or faint, Lindsay realized how odd it seemed that Drew Roberts seemed to have no reaction to Beverly at all. He smiled his most charming smile, enveloping both women. His stance was relaxed and easy. In fact, there was no hint of tension or recognition anywhere, in anything about the man.

There was only one solution to this riddle, Lindsay decided. Obviously, he didn't even remember her mother. That hurt. Even though that scenario had previously occurred to her, she had hoped it wouldn't, couldn't be true. For if he didn't even remember her mother, then her own existence meant nothing. Even though she hadn't known her father, she had at least assumed she had been conceived in love. It would have been far kinder on Beverly's part if she had let Lindsay live out her life with her former fantasy, just as Lindsay would have to do for this child, she suddenly realized.

But happily ever after endings are for fools and fairy tale characters anyway, she chided herself. Life wasn't that simple or fair. She'd have to protect her child come what may.

"Good evening, Lindsay." Her father bent to kiss her hand. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, but just for an instant for she couldn't afford to appear rude.

Lindsay murmured something she hoped sounded acceptable, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears that she couldn't hear her own words.

"And who is this lovely lady with you? Your sister, I daresay, for I see you have the same lovely eyes and smile," he crooned. Dropping Lindsay's hand, he captured Beverly's small hand in his and kissed it, too. "What angel wakes me from my flow'ry bed?" he quoted Shakespeare just as Jeff had a propensity to do. But he let Beverly's small hand linger in his. He was doing his utmost to charm, she could see. In fact, it was at full force tonight. No wonder her star struck mother had been unable to resist her father if this was how he had seduced her a lifetime ago.

Glancing worriedly at her mother, Lindsay thought she looked ready to faint--or float away on cloud nine. Really! It was embarrassing the way Beverly looked at Drew Roberts with longing and admiration. Had she never heard of pride? It was doubly embarrassing that everyone surrounding them was watching this little exchange with the humor of a doting adult on their adorable offspring--or their dotty old aunt.

Except for Jeff. She caught a look of irritation cross his smooth features. It vanished so quickly that she thought she had imagined it.

"This--this is my mother, Beverly Jordan. She's one of your biggest fans. I daresay I grew upon a diet of Drew Roberts movies and records." She felt devilish for an instant not knowing whatever possessed her to say such things.

"Surely you must be teasing me!" Drew Roberts feigned surprise.

Beverly loved the attention. Her laughter tinkled as she turned a brilliant shade of crimson.

"What have I started now?" Lindsay groaned under her breath. She had to look away. She rolled her eyes heavenward.

"You're more charming in real life than you are in your movies, Mr. Andrews. I'm your biggest fan. I have all your movies on tape and I own your entire album collection," Beverly admitted. Long eyelashes lowered over her eyes and she tilted her head.

"Please call me Drew. May I call you Beverly?"

"I'd prefer it if you call me, Bev." She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

Lordie! Lindsay thought. May I call this sickening? Her stomach rumbled. The butterflies were practicing their loop-de-loops again.

"May I be so presumptuous as to ask if you have an escort tonight, Bev?" Drew Roberts laid on his famous charm like Romeo.

"I'm just accompanying my daughter and her friend," Beverly said sweetly. Almost saccharine so.

Lindsay coughed and spluttered, almost choking on the wine she was sipping. Friend was the kindest thing her mother had called Gary in over two years. Lindsay had thought nothing could persuade Beverly to soften her attitude toward her ex-fiancé. But it seemed that Drew Roberts had worked wonders. He and his son were real charmers all right, she admitted reluctantly. She wondered why the art seemed to have totally eluded her. It must be linked to the male chromosomes, she decided.

Turning to the cameraman who sat beside Beverly, Drew Roberts spoke to him quietly. After a brief, friendly conversation, the man rose, smiling. Drew Roberts slapped him jovially on the back as he left, seeking a seat at the next table.

Lindsay's mouth almost fell open. Just in time, she held it firmly shut. She couldn't believe tonight's events and tonight hadn't really even begun yet. Why she should feel so apprehensive about this turn of events, or protective of her mother--from her own father of all people--she had no earthly idea. But, she acknowledged grudgingly to herself that she didn't like this. She liked herself even less for feeling this way.

"Sit here son." Drew Roberts took the seat next to Beverly. He tilted his head to Jeff for him and Sabrina to sit beside him at her table.

Now she knew why she had felt such dread. Her stomach churned when Jeff drew Sabrina to the table with him. Pulling out her chair, Jeff assisted Sabrina into her seat before sitting beside her. His arm rested on the back of the actresses' chair.

Turning to her escort, Lindsay whispered to Gary, "I'm feeling a little queasy. I need some fresh air." Standing abruptly, she added, "Please you excuse me."

"I finally convinced her to dance with me," he whispered conspiratorially for the benefit of everyone at the table, giving her an excuse.

Jeff darted daggers at Lindsay then turned a sunny smile on Sabrina.

Gary whisked her away, dancing towards the door. For once he seemed attuned to her feelings. He couldn't know what was making her ill, but she appreciated his thoughtfulness. After all the bad press and feelings she had forgotten what had attracted her to him in the first place. He really wasn't such a bad guy. He just wasn't Jeff.

Deftly, he navigated through the crowd, clearing a path for them till they reached the fresh air outside the building. Understandingly, he remained silent for a few moments, letting her drink in the cool night air.

Stars twinkled brightly overhead. An almost full moon projected scattered beams through the palm trees onto the sidewalk. Night blooming jasmine's heady scent wafted on the gentle breeze. It would have been a gorgeous night if not for the fact that Lindsay's heart was shattering.

"Do you know how beautiful you are with the moonlight shining on your hair?" Gary lifted a heavy tress of her hair in his hand, stroking it with his long fingers. He leaned close to her, his face barely inches from hers.

When she didn't answer or look at him, he grasped her chin with his fingers, turning her face to his. Warm lips lowered to hers in the briefest of caresses.

Pulling back, she turned away.

"Did I do something wrong Linds?" Gary asked, bewildered.

"No, not really," she said gently. Not recently anyway.

"Something's wrong." He captured her chin in his fingers and forced her to look at him. "Would you like to confide in me?"

"Funny you should ask. You're the second man to offer." She leaned on the railing, admiring the city lights as they blinked on like fireflies. A palm frond tapped her on the shoulder. She glanced at it and smiled.

"Was Andrews the first?" Jealousy tinged Gary's voice, making Lindsay cut a sharp glance at him.

"No. Matter of fact, it was Ken. When I gave him my resignation."

"You resigned from Secrets?" Gary sounded shocked. "Why? You love your job. It's your life." His gaze probed her eyes. "Are you leaving because I returned?" He put his large tanned hand over hers and squeezed.

"I must be a pretty good actress after all," she mumbled under her breath. Everybody seemed to be guessing wrongly so far. She'd thought it was transparently clear that she loved Jeffrey Andrews with all her heart. How could everyone keep mistaking her intentions? She supposed it was a good thing they did, but it didn't lessen her heartache.

"You're not making any sense Lindsay," Gary said.

She smiled sadly. "I'm not, am I? Maybe that's because nothing makes any sense any more."

"I'm beginning to make sense of things I should have seen two years ago." Gary grabbed her shoulders gently. He turned her towards him. "I was a fool to let you go. All other women pale in comparison to you." Looking at her appraisingly, he continued, "You've grown a lot in the last two years. You're a lot more self-assured, more mature, more beautiful than I remember."

"Thank you," was all she could think to say. What he said was nice, but it was all so meaningless. The right man wasn't saying it.

"You don't seem particularly thrilled by what I'm saying, are you?" A perceptive gleam lighted his eyes. "What's wrong? Why are you really leaving Secrets?"

"I think you've changed in the past two years yourself--matured. You've become a nice man," she said.

"Nice?" He backed off a bit. "That sounds like the kiss of death." He raked his fingers through his golden hair.

She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek in a sympathetic gesture. "I loved you once. I thought I loved you with all my heart. But that's before I met--."

"Andrews." Gary snorted. He leaned on the rail and stared away into the distance as if the faraway mountains held some ancient wisdom.

She shook her head vigorously, futilely attempting to deny the obvious. "N-nooo. It's someone you don't know, someone in New York."

"Who is he? I spent a lot of time in New York. Perhaps I know him?" Gary regarded her dubiously. It was clear he didn't believe her.

So what?

"That's my secret. I'm not ready to go public yet."

"Look, Lindsay, if you don’t want anyone to know you're in love with Andrews, I won't tell. You don't even have to tell me the reason you feel you have to run away to New York. But," he hesitated, "I want you to stay here. Give me a second chance. Let me help you get over him. I've changed. I won't hurt you again and I won't let him hurt you again."

"You are a nice man." Lindsay tiptoed and planted a sisterly kiss on his lips. "Perhaps I've been wrong about you." Although Gary's offer would give her child a father and herself a cover, she couldn't use him that way. She just couldn't do it. He deserved to have someone love him with all her heart. He didn’t deserve to be the understudy. She picked up her skirts and turned on her heel, ready to face whatever waited inside.

"Lindsay?"

She turned, looking over her shoulder. The breeze whipped her hair in her face and it felt like feathers tickling her bare arms. Her ruby drop necklace tickled the bare skin of her chest.

"For what it's worth. I'm still in love with you," Gary murmured. The setting sun basked Gary in it's warm glow. His blonde hair glistened like spun gold. Blue eyes blazed and he stood tall and proud like a warrior in an ancient battle. She couldn’t deny how devastatingly handsome he was, what a great picture he made.

Yet, she didn't love him the way he deserved to be loved. Her heart belonged to someone who could never claim it.

"I'm truly sorry, Gary," she whispered. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and forced her feet to retrace the steps that had led her outside. It must be time for the ceremony to start.

A man's shape detached itself from the shadows, barring her way. Her heart raced. All warmth drained from her cheeks. She fingered the ruby pendant at her throat, but she stood her ground.

"How now, my love! Why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast?" A rich melodious voice mocked her.

When she realized the man before her was Jeff, fury replaced trepidation. Once again, he'd been spying on her. And he obviously assumed he'd caught her in another compromising position. Of all the nerve! She'd never met anyone so possessive.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" She eyed Jeff warily. Should she try to pass him or just look for another entrance? If she did the latter, he would know that his presence bothered her. She presumed he already knew that, but she would look rather childish if she turned heel and ran again. He didn't make further threatening moves. Surely, he wouldn't try anything here, in front of all these people? He had a reputation to protect. His public was watching.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a gold filigree case. In one fluid motion, he whipped open the top. With two long fingers that reminded her of an artist's hands, he extracted a cheroot and put it between his teeth. His eyes never left her face.

Picking up her pace, Lindsay decided her only course of action was to pass him and resume her seat. She presumed that Gary was following close behind her. If all else failed, Gary would protect her from unwanted attention.

As she moved to pass him however, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist in an iron clad hold. "Not so fast. We need to talk."

"This isn't the time or place for another argument. The ceremony must be about ready to begin. Won't 'Bree be missing you? Shouldn't you rejoin her?"

"That's the type of childish remark I'd expect from you," Jeff drawled. He inhaled on his cheroot then blew out a puff of smoke.

"Since when is the truth childish?" Much more of this and she’d go into sugar shock.

"I'm not here to talk about Sabrina. What were you doing out here with him?" He inclined his head towards Gary, who trailed behind.

"Now who's jealous? Or should I say childish?" She tossed her windblown hair behind her shoulders. Stray wisps blew across her eyes and she tucked it behind her ears.

He jerked his wrist, pulling her to him. "Stop playing these games Lindsay. I'm tired of them. If you don't wake up and see that you're tearing us apart, that we have something special between us, there'll be irreparable damage done."

She laughed sadly. "There is no us anymore. I've told you that. It's none of your business what I do or who I'm with."

"Like hell!" He threw his cheroot to the ground and stubbed it out with the heel of his shoe. Dragging her to him, he lowered his lips, capturing hers. His kiss started hard and she struggled to free herself. As she struggled, he changed tactics, becoming less demanding, more seductive. His gentleness was her undoing. His nearness, his broad chest pressed her, his warm arms wrapped around her, his lips caressed hers, reminding her traitorous body of those warm sultry nights in his Jacuzzi under the palms and the stars before she discovered her true identity and their real relationship.

Common sense reasserting itself, she pushed against his chest with splayed hands and twisted her head away from his seeking lips.

"Let her go Andrews," Gary growled behind them.

Jeff's arms dropped immediately. He bristled.

Lindsay stumbled without their support. She could feel Jeff tense like a fighter. Even beneath his tuxedo, she could tell that his muscles were cording, readying themselves for action.

"Leave her alone, Alexander. You had your chance and you blew it." Jeff’s tone was deathly quiet.

"I could say the same thing to you, Andrews," Gary drawled.

She stepped between them as they stepped closer together. "Stop this nonsense!" Breathing became almost impossible. It was getting more difficult to expel the air from her lungs.

To her horror, a crowd started forming.

"She's with me, Andrews. Sabrina's waiting for you." Gary inclined his head toward Sabrina, who was watching, aghast, a short distance away.

"You're deluding yourself. She's too smart to forgive and forget what you did to her." Jeff snarled.

"Which one?" Gary circled his opponent, his gaze never leaving Andrews.

"Lindsay. Bree's still in love with you," Jeff said.

Sabrina gasped, pivoted on her heel and pushed her way through the crowd. Her sequined skirts hitched to her knees.

Lindsay spotted Maxwell pushing his way through the crowd coming towards them. Although he had his tuxedo on like the other men, he looked like a shark hauling a camera. Dread clutched her. Heaven forbid he capture her in another compromising picture. She had to stop this now.

But she was helpless against the emotions escalating out of control. Both Jeff and Gary seethed with rage--the jealous, thwarted lover. It would have been funny had it not been so serious. Never would she have dreamed that two actors, two stars, would fight over her affections. Especially when Sabrina Katz waited in the wings, willing to take either of them for her own.

That was unimportant now. They were about to make a national disgrace of themselves, of her and of Secrets--again! Why did Maxwell always have to be around for these things? The man was like a blood hound--he could sniff out scandal.

Quickly assessing the situation, she felt it would be easier to distract Gary than Jeff. This had been building in Jeff for weeks now and he wouldn't cool off as fast as Gary. Besides, the only way to calm Jeff would be to give him what he wanted--her--and that was something she desperately wanted to give him and never could.

Grabbing Gary's hand, she tried to pull him with her to another entrance, as she should have to begin with. But he resisted. His attention was on Jeff.

"Move out of the way before you get hurt, Linds," Gary said.

She had no choice but to comply. But she'd make one last ditch effort to stop the two of them from making idiots of themselves and of her. "Stop acting like Mike Tyson. I'm not worth fighting over. This isn't some script, although chances are high that if you persist, you'll be televised," she warned.

Lindsay tried appealing to Jeff. "Jeff? Stop this now. There's no reason to be jealous." She stepped too close to him and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her towards him.

"Let's go inside," he growled and propelled her in front of him.

"I've had enough of you Andrews." Before Lindsay could stop him, Gary's hand shot back and his fist hit Jeff hard in the stomach.

Furious beyond control, Jeff punched Gary in the face. Quickly, more quickly than the argument had begun, security guards pulled Jeff off Gary.

Jeff struggled for his freedom.

Gary groaned. A trickle of blood oozed from the side of his lip. He wiped it away with his finger.

Lindsay darted around Jeff, anxious to see how badly hurt Gary was. Jeff seemed to be fine.

Shooting an angry glance at Jeff, she accused, "Now look what you've done. I told you there was no reason to be jealous." She knelt at Gary's side, lifting his head off the cement, bending over him to examine his injuries. She forgot the limitations of her dress.

She grimaced when she intercepted the sly look Gary sent Jeff. Nor did she miss the rage seething on Jeff's face. The next moment, however, she was blinded by the barrage of flashing lights going off around her as Maxwell and other cameramen captured her on film from all angles.

Pulling away form the security guard with all his might, Jeff managed to get close enough to Lindsay to warn her in a low voice, "I finally see what you're up to. Just keep your mercenary mother away form my father. I definitely don't want you as my sister!"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lindsay's back stiffened regally in a how-do-you-dare pose. She paused for a moment. Then, lifting her chin, she strolled with as much dignity as she could muster back into the ceremonial hall. She didn't turn to see if either Jeff or Gary followed her. She no longer cared.

But that wasn't true. She only wished she didn't care. She didn't have the right to care--for Jeff--not in the way she wanted to. Thus, it was easier to pretend that she didn't care at all. Within the month, she would be across the country anyway and she wouldn't have to pretend anything anymore.

The opening speeches were being made as she slid into her seat. Always the gentleman, Drew Roberts stood, holding her chair for her. He smiled his most charming smile, but she could have sworn that his eyes narrowed imperceptibly when they met hers.

She tried to concentrate on the ceremony, pretended to laugh at the jokes that just weren't humorous. But the laughter sounded hollow to her own ears. What caught her attention was her own mother and father, their heads close together, whispering conspiratorially, and Jeff who had rejoined them, who seemed interested only in the ceremony.

"That was some show your friend put on outside, wasn't it?" Gary whispered in her ear as he lowered himself into his seat. He held his handkerchief to his swollen lips.

Irritated, Lindsay snapped, "He didn't put on that disgraceful show alone. Thanks to the two of you, I'm glad I'm quitting the show 'cause I'd be fired after this for sure!"

"Aren't you being a little melodramatic?" Gary asked, dabbing his lip.

"I feel melodramatic," Lindsay murmured. She took a sip of her water. "After what the two of you just put me through, I have the right."

"I thought women liked to have men fight over them. You should feel flattered. It's not every girl that has two stars fighting for her affections."

"Is that what that display was? I thought you were fighting to retain your portion of the sandbox or was it a publicity stunt?" she hissed. When Gary started to protest, Lindsay interrupted him. "The two of you acted like I was a prize at the county fair, not a person. I'm sick of the male ego. Especially actors!" She spoke louder than she had intended, her temper getting the best of her.

All eyes turned to her.

Gary paled, the blood draining from his cheeks.

Jeff smiled sardonically. He quirked a dark eyebrow, looking like Lucifer himself.

Drew Andrews laughed heartily.

Ken frowned, shaking his head, warning her against saying anything else.

Beverly sank in her chair and covered her eyes.

Lindsay intercepted a sly look from Sabrina and wondered what it was all about.

Heat rose in Lindsay's cheeks and she looked away.

Momentarily, Jeff was introduced and called to the stage.

Jeff unfolded himself from his chair and drew himself to his full height. Drew rose and clapped him on the back.

"I'm proud of you son," he said, his voice trembling with emotion.

Lindsay stared at the scene, wishing her father would say something similar to her. She covertly admired Jeff's leonine grace when he strode away from her. He looked like a panther, sleek and powerful, ready to pounce on unsuspecting victims. But when he turned and she could see his face again, she felt mesmerized. Gone was the sour expression of a few moments before. Instead, he wore his most open, charming smile. If she had a son, she hoped he'd have these characteristics of his father. Her hand fluttered to her stomach involuntarily and she bit back a smile.

She had to hand it to Jeff's acting ability. All the women swooned over him--just as they had their father, she reminded herself. She thought about Beverly's shrine in the living room and chuckled. Maybe someday, someone might enshrine Jeffrey.

Jeff sang the theme song of Secrets then a medley of his father's hits. His voice wasn't quite as rich and strong as Drew Andrews, but it was deep and resonant. He sang of unrequited love with a pathos that tugged at her heart. He sang one of Drew Andrews most popular hits back in the sixties, one her mother had crooned to her as a lullaby.

Her eyes were drawn to his against her will. It had to be her imagination, she knew, but she could have sworn that his eyes never left her face. Unwillingly, her spine tingled and her toes curled. It was as if everyone else in the auditorium vanished when he crooned his haunting melody for her alone. Only she and Jeff remained.

Visions of their lovemaking in Jeff's Jacuzzi filled her mind's eyes. She could still feel his arms cradling her against his chest when they kissed beneath the stars, when they'd made this child.

But this time, instead of his lips on hers, instead of his warm arms to hold her and protect her from the world, when he finished his song, he darted her a sarcastic glance, bowed to the audience and lithely jumped off the stage, as if he was ready to break into a dance routine. It felt surrealistic, like one of their father's old musicals.

The roar of the audience was deafening and she felt as if she would drown in its wake. She had to shake herself to come out of her dreamlike trance. This wouldn't do. She had to pull herself together and now. If she fell apart here, in front of her mother, in front of her colleagues, on national television, not to mention, in front of Jeff--she'd never live down her disgrace.

But next, one of her categories was announced--that of best story line in a day time drama--and her attention was finally focused. She perched on the edge of her seat. She realized she did care about her work and her career. She wanted to win this award, not just for herself, but for Secrets, for its entire cast and crew. If she had to leave, she'd prefer to do it on a good note. She needed to give something of value and honor back to Secrets for all it had given her.

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She didn't want to leave Secrets, to leave Ken, Elvis and the rest of the cast. She didn't want to leave her mother on the West Coast when she went to live on the East Coast. She didn't want to abandon all her hard work, her characters, her stories. If she left Secrets, she'd be leaving a big piece of herself behind.

When the announcer opened the sealed envelope, preparing to give the judges' vote, Lindsay's heartbeat started to gallop, droning in her ears. The palms of her hands became clammy and her fingernails dug into them, leaving imprints on the soft flesh. Her respiration shallowed and she started having trouble expelling the air from her lungs. Her gaze never left the announcer's face.

Finally--it seemed an eternity had passed--the award for Best Story line in a Daytime Drama was announced. She could have sworn the announcer called her name--Ms. Lindsay Jordan of Secrets for Slade's and Saffron's love affair. But she was dreaming. She had to be.

She froze to her chair. Her muscles wouldn't move. Her heart stopped beating. Her lungs took too much air inside them and she thought she would hyperventilate.

Applause deafened her. Her mother, Gary, Ken and even her father, jostled her, touching her arms, her hands, trying to awaken her from her bewitchment. Finally, Gary pulled her chair back and helped her stand to her feet. Hugging her heartily, his lips brushed hers lightly. "Congratulations," he whispered, and then he gave her a slight push to propel her on her way.

When she passed Jeff, however, his expression became a hard, inscrutable mask.

Sabrina coiled her arms around Jeff's neck and leaned her face against his. Her breasts almost spilled out of her low-cut bodice. Sequins almost blinded Lindsay.

"Showtime," Lindsay mumbled.

Not until Jeff raised his hands, clapping woodenly and told her, "Congratulations, I see you got what you wanted," in clipped, precise tones, did she feel released to climb the stage stairs to accept her award.

The cast and crew at the Secrets tables, stood, clapping and cheering heartily. Tears fell from her mother's eyes. Ken clapped Gary and Jeff on the back so hard they stumbled forward, and then he turned to swing his wife in his arms. Everyone looked ecstatic--everyone but Sabrina. Even Jeff couldn't hide a proud gleam in his eyes, Lindsay felt heartened to note.

"Speech!" Elvis and Troy yelled in unison. Troy stuck his fingers in his mouth and made wolf wistles.

She darted him a stern, reproving look and smoothed her dress over her thighs with the palms of her hands. She wished now she'd worn a dress with a neckline that buttoned to her throat, for she felt exposed to the world. Her ruby pendant nestled against her and she could feel a fine film of perspiration trickle down her breasts under the hot stage lights.

Lindsay saw Beverly wipe tears from her cheeks and Drew Roberts hand her his handkerchief.

She'd written a speech for this occasion, even rehearsed it in front of her mirror, but it sounded so hollow and false now. Although she'd dreamed of this moment for years, she hadn't truly expected to be standing here, holding the Emmy, facing hundreds of people with a microphone pushed in her hands, expecting her to say something clever and witty.

Clever wouldn't do. Sincere and honest would be best. Something short and sweet.

"I'm honored," she began after clearing her throat, "to accept this award on behalf of myself and the entire cast and crew of Secrets. I want to let my Secrets family know that I realize I didn't win this award by myself." She forced herself to smile and stand tall, even though the butterflies flew major loop-de-loops in her stomach. She feared that her voice sounded shaky, but that couldn't be helped. "I was inspired and supported by each and everyone of you."

At that, the Secrets cast and crew gave a long standing ovation.

Elvis cleared his throat and offered a toast, quoting Shakespeare, "Never did I hear such gallant chiding: for, besides the groves, the skies, the fountains, every region near seemed all one mutual cry. I never heard so musical a discord, such sweet thunder." His drink slipped from his hand onto Jasmyn who stood beneath him.

She yelped "Ooooh," and jumped back. One of her falsies slipped out and fell at her feet. Lindsay stared at the flesh toned cup resting on Jasmyn's foot like a soccer ball. Heat rose in her cheeks as she empathized with the woman’s embarrassment.

"I especially want to thank my good friend and director, Ken Kennedy, my dear mother, Beverly Jordan, and the legendary Drew Roberts for their special support and inspiration on this story. And," she paused, sucking in a deep breath, " I want to tell all of you how much I'll really miss you." Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks in torrents. She smiled tremulously and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. "You've all been wonderful to me." Even when Elvis lost his teeth.

She chanced a glance at Jeff from beneath veiled lashes and then wished she hadn't.

His eyes narrowed and his lips thinned as he looked from her to his father. Questions burned in his gaze, questions she didn’t dare answer.

"Thank you." Cradling the Emmy against her chest, she picked her way carefully down the steps, back to her table, careful not to trip over her long dress.

"Clever speech," Sabrina purred tauntingly. Lindsay had the odd sensation she was sharpening her claws. She tried to ignore the cruel intonation in the actress’s voice.

"Very nice, Dear." Beverly patted Lindsay's hand when she passed her.

"Congratulations my Dear." Drew Roberts stood unexpectedly, clasping her into his warm embrace. He kissed her cheek and squeezed her shoulders. She hesitated at first, and then hugged him back, releasing all the emotion that welled inside her. He bent to whisper into her ear, "Someday you'll have to explain why I'm such an inspiration to you." When he released her, she slumped. But Gary came to her rescue again, catching her arm with steadying fingers and guiding her back to her seat. Of all people, she'd never expected him to be her savior.

Meanwhile, amidst her own excitement, Sabrina had been called to the stage to announce the next category--that of Best Actor in a Daytime Drama. Jeff was nominated for this and Lindsay knew without a doubt that he deserved this award. Pride welled deep within her when Sabrina crooned his name.

Sabrina, she noted disapprovingly, preened and flaunted herself on stage. She shook her head, making her strawberry blonde hair bounce and shimmer. She pushed her barely concealed breasts out, ensuring that she grabbed every male gaze in view.

How typical! It seemed the male actor's egos weren't the only over-inflated ones.

After opening the envelope, Sabrina read the Emmy recipient silently, pausing for several long moments. Then she smiled at Lindsay.

"I'd like to take this opportunity to tell you a bit of history of the man who has won this award," Sabrina purred. The audience hushed, aware that something out of the ordinary was happening. What was this feline woman doing? Lindsay grimaced. This wasn't standard behavior, not even for Sabrina. Something was wrong.

"It seems his personal life is far more interesting and worthy of the best daytime drama award than his story line character's, " she paused strategically. She shot daggers at Lindsay across the room.

Lindsay looked at Ken, whose mouth had dropped wide open. His skin paled and his flesh turned a ghastly green--about the same shade she felt at this particular moment.

Then her gaze fell on Jeff, who looked openly perplexed. His hand ran through his hair in a gesture she well knew--worry.

Foreboding seemed to grip everyone. Lindsay's nausea returned and she clutched her throat. She poised for flight on the edge of her chair. But Sabrina couldn't know her secrets, could she? She hadn't told anyone.

"I can see I have all of you on the edge of your seats, wondering what in the world I'm talking about. Don't worry I won't keep you in suspense much longer." Again, she smiled directly at Lindsay. Chills crawled along Lindsay's spine like a thousand tiny spiders.

"It seems this actor has a very famous father, a man even more famous than himself. A ladies man by all accounts," Sabrina mocked. She turned her gigawatt smile on Jeff. "Years ago, his father had an affair with the mother of one of our crew members. Neither he, nor the crew member knew they were half-brother and half-sister. It turns out that his half-sister is the prize-winning writer of his story line--a very steamy, erotic story line. He falls in love with his half-sister, has an erotic affair. They get engaged to get married and she gets pregnant. Then she finds out the truth and dumps him for her former fiancé without telling him why."

By now the audience was entranced, gripping the edges of their seats. Lindsay's mind was working furiously. She felt faint but wouldn't allow herself to swoon here. How could Sabrina have discovered the truth? How could she know any of this? How could she, Lindsay, disappear forever without a trace?

Someone in the audience broke protocol, shouting out, "You're making this up, Ms. Katz. You're just preparing us for a new story line, aren't you?"

Smiling slyly, Sabrina said, "How many people wish I were. No." She turned back towards Lindsay, "this drama is all too real. And it's unfolded in front of me these past several months on my own soap, Secrets which, of course means, that the new best Leading Man on a Daytime Soap, is a prospective new daddy. What do you have to say for yourself Jeffrey Andrews?"

Lights flashed in her eyes. She had to cover her face to prevent blindness. "Yes, tell us about your sordid affair with your own brother Miss Jordan," Maxwell's cruel voice taunted her.

Then, as if the nightmare could get any worse, he said glibly, "If you would just take a look at the Invader's newest front page, you'll see yourself in your last scandal. You've been a busy young lady jumping from one scandal to another. Your life is a heck of a lot more colorful than those of the characters that you create. What do you have to say for yourself? I dare say an incestuous affair with your own brother--and you're pregnant--even surpasses a night in the lock-up for being drunk and indecent? Did you tell him about the baby, Ms. Jordan?"

Despite her misgivings and shame, Lindsay had to see if he was telling the truth. Had the Invader finally printed that horrid story, complete with the damning pictures? If so, then Maxwell and Sabrina had have to collaborated and coordinated this effort. This was too coincidental to be chance.

Oh God! She and Ken littered the front of the scandal sheet and it looked horrid! But even more horrid were the looks of disbelief and scorn and embarrassment on the faces of her mother, her father and Jeff. She didn't know who looked worse. On second thought, yes, she did--Jeff. He looked absolutely livid. And he terrified her. How could she ever, ever face him, forget the rest of the American public? She had to get out of town. She had to hide where no one could ever find her. How could Maxwell be so heartless and cruel? Why did he have to be around every time her life went into crisis and make it public?

Fury welled inside her. Striking with all her might, she punched Maxwell square in the jaw. He slumped to the floor, his surprise complete. More flashes blinded her as the throng of reporters loved this new development.

As she turned to flee, Gary grabbed her elbow, whispering loudly, "Let's get your mother out of here, now! Follow my lead, keep your head down, and for God's sake, don't slug any more reporters! You're grabbing more press than I've ever had." More seriously, he added, "Settle down Lindsay! You're going to have a baby. You have to be more careful if you plan to go through with it!"

"Lindsay, wait!" Jeff shouted. "Tell everyone this is some silly publicity stunt. You're not pregnant, are you? And what's all this nonsense about you being my sister?"

She couldn't meet his eyes. She felt too embarrassed considering what they had done, the magnitude of their sins. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks as if a volcano had just erupted, and she bit her lower lip. She knew she'd been caught in an impossible situation. But what could she say to make it better?

"My God," Jeff whispered. He turned on his father. "How much of this is true? How could you keep this from me? Don't you know what you did? We could all burn in hell for this!"

A microphone suddenly appeared in front of Drew's mouth. "Yes, please tell us your side of the story, Mr. Roberts."

Drew Roberts pushed the microphone away. "I have no idea what this insane babble is all about. You're my only child, Jeffrey. God knows how your mother and I wanted more children, but after my illness..."

"What are you talking about now, Dad? What illness?" Jeff asked.

Lindsay's attention riveted to her father's words. Was he really denying her paternity? Hope welled inside her breast. Could he possibly be telling the truth? But that would mean her mother was lying, or crazy. When Gary tugged on her arm to leave, she refused to budge, riveted to the conversation unfolding across the table for all of national television.

"This isn't something I want publicized, son," Robert's looked uncomfortable.

"It's too late to be embarrassed. My whole future is at stake." Jeff darted a look at Lindsay that dared her to leave.

By now the throng of reporters and cameramen had them trapped like caged animals anyway. Maxwell was being helped to his feet by one of his associate sharks, blood trickling out the side of his mouth. He shot her a look of intense dislike.

Lindsay shrugged her shoulders at him and widened her eyes in mock humbleness.

Gary chuckled, then leaned forward for Maxwell's benefit, "She's stronger than she looks. I wouldn't take any more pot shots at her if you know what's good for you, Maxxie."

Lindsay overheard Gary's veiled threats and couldn't help but smile. Although she doubted that Maxwell would heed the advice, she certainly hoped he would. But Maxwell was the least of her worries today. It seemed that every other reporter in the free world was here recording her most dearly held secrets.

"I want to get to the bottom of whatever this mess is too, Son, but not here. In private. Surely someone can get us a private room to discuss this? Besides, I don't know how much more of this Lindsay can take. This could be very dangerous in her condition."

Spotting a high-ranking banquet official, Roberts managed to attract the man's attention. Within moments of a hush-hush discussion, Drew Roberts, his son, Lindsay and her mother, were escorted by security to a private room off the main hall. Lindsay had to support her fragile mother, all the way praying Beverly wouldn't faint on her.

Beverly kept mumbling about her secret, a baby, what had her little girl done this time? Lindsay tried not to let it upset her any more than she already felt which would be a thirteen on a scale of one to ten.

When they were finally in the room alone, they just stared at each other for several moments, everyone loathe to break the silence, no one knowing where to begin. Lindsay wondered when Inspector Clousseau would jump out from the shadows and solve the mystery.

There would be no Inspector Clousseau to her rescue. Lindsay knew that she was the only one who knew most of the story.

Taking a deep breath, screwing up her courage, she forced herself to meet Jeff's gaze squarely. In a low voice, barely audible, she began, "I'm sorry. I wanted to spare you the pain. I didn't know how to tell you..." The rest of the words choked her. She couldn't say he was her brother out loud. That felt paramount to confessing her sins.

"Tell me what Lindsay?" Jeff's control seemed about to snap. He sounded angry and frustrated. "That you're pregnant with my child? Are you expecting a baby?"

Unable to speak, Lindsay nodded yes.

"My Lord, why didn't you tell me?" He paced the floor like a panther, ready to pounce. He wrung his hands together in total frustration.

"How could I tell you I'm pregnant and that you're my brother all at one time? I couldn't even deal with it," Lindsay's voice rose in pitch, much higher than her normal low tones. She felt near her breaking point.

"Indeed. How could you tell me all of it at once? Did you think about telling me that you're my sister before you got pregnant in the first place?"

"Drop the sarcasm, Jeff. I didn't know you were my brother then. I didn't have a clue. I found out you were my half-brother and then I discovered I was pregnant a few weeks later."

"How did you find out? What makes you think all this nonsense is even true?" He stopped suddenly in front of her, towering above her menacingly. Lindsay cringed.

"Why don't you ask your--our—father?" Lindsay said.

"Wait a minute, young lady. Whatever makes you think I'm your father? Don't you think I'd know if you were my daughter?" Drew Andrews said. He rubbed his chin and stared at her.

"Would you? But, yes, I agree you should have known, had you cared anything for my mother...," Lindsay blurted out. She put her hands on her hips.

"I've never met your lovely mother until tonight," Drew denied, shaking his head.

"Let me get this straight, Mr. Roberts. You're telling me that you can't possibly be my father?"

"That's absolutely correct, my Dear," Drew asserted firmly.

Lindsay pivoted on her heel, facing her mother. "And you're telling me that he is absolutely, positively my father?" Lindsay asked. Excedrin headache number 1276 made it's debut. She rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers.

"Excuse me," Jeff muttered, "but let's hear from your mother, Lindsay." Jeff turned his probing gaze on Beverly. "Can you clear up this obvious misunderstanding?"

Tears welled in Beverly's eyes. She turned and faced Drew. "You really don't remember me? I had thought, hoped, you were pretending not to remember me. But how could you forget me? How could you forget about us? We had something so very special." Beverly turned away, her shoulders racked with sobs.

Drew held up his hands in exasperation. When his son darted him a perplexed glance, Drew shrugged his shoulders.

"Not to be ungallant, my dear lady, but no, I don't recall having met you..."

"I'm sure you must have had so many affairs in your hey day that you don't remember half of them Mr. Roberts..."

"Lindsay, that's enough!" Jeff commanded. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Rounding on Jeff like a lion with a splinter in its toe, Lindsay stood up for her mother. "I know enough to know that he charmed her, seduced her, made me with her, and then broke her heart and left a young, fragile woman to raise a child all by herself. Perhaps he did that more than once? How many other brothers and sisters do we have out there? Are you following in his footsteps?"

"I said that's enough! Leave him alone," Jeff commanded. He raked his hand through his hair.

"Like he left Beverly and me alone?" Lindsay asked.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you and I think that the rogue who did this deserves to be hanged, but I'm not that man. You have mistaken me for someone else," Drew asserted.

"I think my mother can recognize a famous movie star and know the only man she's ever been--been--intimate with!" Lindsay's chest heaved with indignation. Her fists clenched into tight balls of anger.

"Not to be dispassionate, my dear, but many, many young women fantasize about love affairs with movie stars. It's one of the hazards of my profession. Surely you've read and heard about many false paternity suits where young women file all the time against famous celebrities."

"You're calling my mother a gold digger? And a liar? Am I a fantasy?"

"I'm merely saying she's confused fantasy with reality, or made up an interesting story to tell her little girl."

"If my mother was a gold digger, as you say, she'd have filed a paternity suit long ago. But she never asked you for a penny, she never exposed you, except to me, and she only told me two months ago when her conscience could no longer tell lies anymore. What does she have to gain by making up lies about you being my father?"

"Let's ask Beverly," Jeff suggested. Walking over to where Beverly stood, her back still to the others, Jeff put his arm gently around her shoulders. "We're not here to hurt you or Lindsay, just to get at the truth. It is imperative, in fact, a life or death situation, that Lindsay and I know the truth. Won't you please come over here and help us to straighten out this misunderstanding? Please!"

Slowly, Beverly let Jeff escort her to where Lindsay and Roberts stood awaiting her. Her scared eyes looked huge, dominating a pale face.

"It's okay, Mother. You can tell us. I'm here to protect you," Lindsay whispered.

"No need to be so melodramatic my Dear. No one is going to harm your dear mother. She doesn't need protection from us." Drew Roberts motioned for Jeff to step away. He took Jeff's place, taking Beverly's hands in his own, guiding her to a soft chair by the window overlooking the skyline.

Beverly let him guide her and sat in a chair that he pulled out for her. When she was seated Drew seated himself across from her. He leaned his elbows on the round table that sat between them.

Lindsay and Jeff watched in silence, neither aware they were holding their breath.

"Beverly. Will you tell me why you think I'm Lindsay's father?"

A fat tear spilled down Beverly's cheek. "I can't believe you don't remember. I thought I was special to you. You told me you cared more for me than anyone else you ever met."

Lindsay's eyebrow arched sarcastically. And she'd thought Drew Roberts was such a gentleman. What a rogue he was turning out to be. How could he break her mother's heart so and leave her with a baby, alone?

Jeff placed a heavy hand on Lindsay's shoulder, warning her not to interfere. She'd said too much already.

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder, angry at his high-handedness, simultaneously, missing his warmth and touch. With difficulty, she focused her attention back to her mother and Drew Roberts.

"I honestly don't remember you, my Dear. Tell me how we met. Where we met."

"Well, all right. I suppose it can't hurt anymore. I was invited to a Hollywood party on the set of your newest movie, Diamonds in the Dust, when I was a chorus girl on the set next door. I was so very excited. I had worshipped you from a distance since your very first movie, but I never thought, that I, insignificant little Bev Jordan would ever meet the great film legend Drew Roberts--that's you of course. I watched, spellbound, as you sauntered into the party. You were so dashing and debonair, so wonderfully handsome, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven just to have seen you in person. Then you disappeared for awhile. I was dancing with someone else when you cut in, and said you wanted to dance with the most beautiful girl in the whole room. I swooned, but you caught me in your arms and spun me around the room. You wouldn't let anyone else dance with me all night. You took me home in your new Corvette, and you were a perfect gentleman. After that night, you called on me several times, and we grew closer and closer, until one night, we drank a little too much wine, danced a little too close, and the next thing I knew, Lindsay was on the way."

Lindsay winced at this revelation. So this was her making. Her mother had been such a young, innocent girl, so easily seduced, and yet, she herself hadn't been any better, any smarter, even unluckier in love, if that was possible.

"None of this sounds familiar, my Dear. Judging by Lindsay's age," Drew turned around to assess Lindsay. "How old are you, my Dear? Twenty five?"

Lindsay shook her head.

Jeff answered for her, "Twenty seven."

"That would have made the year about 1971, wouldn't it? I was a very happily married man with a young son, Jeffrey here, and I didn't seduce young ladies, even beautiful ones."

"But you did. Lindsay's proof," Beverly asserted.

"Are you sure it was me?" Drew asked. He ran a hand through his silver hair.

"Of course I'm sure! Are you calling me a liar, or are you in cahoots with my daughter and you think I'm crazy too?" Beverly accused.

"Settle down. No one's in collusion with anyone else. And we don't think you're crazy."

Lindsay had to add her two cents at this point. "Simply being married to someone else doesn't preclude an affair with a pretty young girl who adores you, does it? It's still possible, isn't it?"

"Actually, it isn't--at least not the baby part. I said I was happily married, but we had one very big regret. We desperately wanted to give Jeffrey a brother or sister, but it wasn't possible."

"What do you mean?" Lindsay had to know.

"I caught chicken pox from Jeffrey when he was a little tyke. If left me sterile. Jeffrey's mother and I tried to have other children, but the doctors told us I was incapable of fathering more children. Thus, even if I'd had an affair with your mother, Lindsay…" Drew turned to look at her, "I couldn't possibly be your father. I'm sterile and have been since 1966. But I never cheated on Jeff's mother, so it's impossible for two reasons."

"But how do you explain--me?" Hope flared in Lindsay's heart. If Drew Roberts couldn't possibly be her father, then Jeff Andrews couldn't be her brother. And if Jeff wasn't her brother? Everything would be all right, that is, if Jeff could forgive her. Slyly, she sneaked a glance at Jeff from beneath her eyelashes.

All eyes turned to Beverly.

"I swear. Drew Roberts is Lindsay's father. I wouldn't lie or make this up," Beverly whispered. She smoothed her skirt over her knees.

"Mother, are you absolutely sure? I know that you've adored Mr. Roberts for longer than I can remember. Is it wishful thinking?"

"I am sure Lindsay. How could you doubt me?" Beverly looked unbelievably hurt.

"I don't doubt you, Mother, and yet, Mr. Robert's evidence is irrefutable. You must've made a mistake. I can't explain it. You're the only one who could possibly explain, the only one who can tell me who my father is."

Drew Roberts looked pensive. He tapped his chin with his forefinger.

"What is it Dad?" Jeff asked.

"I wonder," Drew pondered.

"Wonder what?" Jeff said, his eyes blackly intense.

"It's far-fetched, but just possibly..."

"Come now, Dad, our patience wore out two hours ago. Out with it." Jeff practically roared.

"Well, on the set of Diamonds in the Dust, I had a stunt double that looked just like me. People used to joke he was my evil twin. His name was Jimmy something or other. When he wanted to, he could even sound like me. He was supposedly quite a ladies man. Now, it's just a theory, but maybe, just maybe, Jimmy told Beverly that he was me. He had my face, my voice, access to fancy cars and clothes from the set. I know that I'm definitely not Lindsay's father, but maybe Jimmy is."

"Diamonds in the Dust? I don't remember that movie, do I Dad?"

"You were just a little tyke when that was being filmed." Drew looked uncomfortable.

Lindsay's heart fluttered. Could this Jimmy person be her real father? Now she was left with a mystery and mere theories as to her paternity. It had been so much easier to deal with the story of Richard Jordan, a deceased, but real father, than not knowing who her father was. And her poor mother! Not knowing who fathered her own child. Did this mean she could keep her child with a clear conscience? She could barely breathe.

A troubled thought occurred to her. "Is Jimmy related to you?" she asked Drew. "After all, he looked so much like you. He wasn't your brother or your cousin, was he?"

"No. No. He was just a look-a-like."

Relief flooded Lindsay. But if this Jimmy was her real father, she had a million questions about him. "Where is he now? What happened to him? What's his last name?" Hope flared in her heart.

"I think his name was something like Wexler or Dexler." Drew paused, looking uncertain how to proceed.

"Do you know what happened to him, Dad? Can you help us find him?" Jeff’s gaze was glued to Drew.

"Actually, I do know what happened." Drew glanced at Beverly apprehensively.

"I can't stand this! Please tell me now," Beverly commanded.

"It's not good." Drew hesitated.

"Go ahead, Dad, we need to know." Jeff put a supportive hand on his father's shoulder and squeezed.

"Diamonds in the Dust was never released. There was a terrible accident. One of our stuntmen died, another was severely burned. The movie was cursed from the start." Drew was looking into the past, far away in his thoughts.

Beverly gasped. Her hands clenched and unclenched on her lap. A single tear slid down her cheek. Her voice cracked, barely audible, "Jimmy!"

"Yes. I'm sorry. After that the producers decided to kill the movie. It was just too dangerous."

"Mother, I'm so sorry. You must be reeling with all of this." Lindsay knelt by her mother's knee and gave her a kiss on her cheek. She squeezed her hands in sympathy. "Please forgive me, but I must know if this Jimmy person or whoever he was, is my father. How can we find out?"

Jeff walked to Lindsay and pulled her to her feet. He put his hands on her shoulder. "We'll deal with that later. Right now, I need to know something."

Lindsay gazed at him, perplexed.

"Do you love me?"

"What?" Lindsay's mind reeled in turmoil. What did he want?

"Do you love me? Yes or no?" Jeff gazed into her eyes and his warm breath fanned her cheek.

"Why do you ask that now? I'm trying to find out who my father is."

"As long as we know who he isn't," Jeff murmured, folding her to his chest. "We have a lifetime to find out who he is. Right now, the most important thing is knowing we're not brother and sister. So answer me! Do you love me?" He fairly shouted the words.

She blinked, awaking from her stupor, "Yes," she said hesitantly.

"Yes!" Jeff swept her off her feet and swung her around. He kissed her soundly on her lips. When her arms started to curl around Jeff's neck, they heard an "Ah hmm" from across the room.

They separated, although Jeff kept her hand in his as he looked deep into her eyes. "Will you marry me?"

"Are you only asking because of the baby?" she asked, more than a little suspicious.

"I want you, Luscious Lindsay, to be my wife, my lover and the mother of my children. Please marry me and we'll have three or four children!" In her ear he whispered for her to hear alone, "I can't wait to take you in the Jacuzzi again."

"Yes!" She snaked her arms around his neck, kissing him. He pulled her hard against him. Their kiss was long and deep.

When they separated, Drew smiled his crooked, charming smile which had made him so famous. "Congratulations, my son." He walked over to them. "May I kiss my new daughter?"

"Only on the cheek. I know your reputation with the ladies and I'm not taking any chances." Jeff laughed, imprisoning Lindsay’s hand in his, his thumb rubbing her ring finger.

Lindsay allowed Drew to hug her and kiss her cheek. She kissed him in return. Meanwhile, Jeff hugged Beverly and kissed her on the cheek. Her fuchsia lipstick left her lips imprinted on his cheek.

"When's the wedding date?" Beverly looked suddenly radiant.

Lindsay laughed, carefree. "We've not had a chance to discuss anything yet. Really, Mother." She picked up a napkin from the nearby table and wiped the lipstick off Jeff’s cheek.

Jeff interrupted. "Under the circumstances, just as soon as we can get a license."

Lindsay looked at him, alarmed.

"If you'll agree. We've wasted too much time already." Passion flickered in Jeff’s bedroom eyes. His lips curled seductively.

"But I dreamed Lindsay would have a huge wedding!" Beverly protested. "With Birds of Paradise and pink flamingos and..."

"I don't have a job here anymore." Lindsay gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "I'm supposed to be in New York within the month."

"Let's not waste time, then. Why don't we find Ken now and tell him the good news? I think I can persuade him to rehire you." Jeff hugged her close. His heartbeat was strong and steady. He smelled wonderful, making her head spin.

"And if he won't? Or can't?" Lindsay's eyebrows arched.

"Then this will be a perfect opportunity to start your great American novel--and prepare for the baby."

Heat crept into her cheeks. "Let's find him now. I can't wait to tell the world."

"Which is exactly what you'll be doing if you tell him in that mob outside the door. I dare say they're about ready to break in here to find out what's happened. The press can't stand secrets," Drew said, beaming proudly.

"Well, they'll love hearing this one. In fact," Jeff said, "let's really tell the world our good news. Right now."

"Now? Tonight?" She couldn't believe her ears.

"Now. Tonight. On national television. And I'll set them straight. But mostly, I want to show off my beautiful bride and show the world you're all mine--starting with Pretty Boy."

"Gary's never been a threat to you. But he's a nice guy and I'd like you to be friends with him. Can you handle that?" Lindsay had to know now. Jeff's recent possessiveness had worried her.

"I can handle anything if you say you love me. Say you love me." Jeff cupped her cheek with his hand. His thumb rubbed her cheek.

"I love you!" Lindsay shouted, not caring if the world heard, not even Maxwell.

"Are you ready to go back into the lion's den?" Jeff asked.

"Are there big cats out there?" she quipped.

"One big Katz with very sharp claws, but I think we've declawed her. In fact, I think the joke's on 'Bree. I plan to thank her on national television for exposing the confusion which had kept us apart, and for getting us back together." Jeff bathed her in his most loving smile.

"Oh, she'll just love that!" Lindsay smiled back shyly.

"I'm counting on it." Jeff grinned slyly.

"There's going to be a lot of questions. Mother has more to lose than anyone if we announce this publicly tonight." She worried about her frail, eccentric mother. She had already had a lot to deal with in the past few hours.

"It's all right, Dear. I'm stronger than you think. I can handle the press. Anyway, the alternative is to stay locked up in here all night. I want to enjoy the rest of the party!"

"Don't worry about Bev. I'll protect her from the press if they try to badger her. I've had a bit of experience with them in my time. Besides, I think we're both deliriously happy that we're finally going to be grandparents." Drew held out a hand to Beverly, helping her gracefully to her feet. He put a comforting arm about her shoulders and led her to the door, waiting for Jeff and Lindsay to proceed them.

Beverly had to add her two cents worth. "I'm so happy Lindsay won't be an Old Maid anymore. But really, Lindsay, I told you not to get pregnant before you got married. See how well she listened to my advice?" she said to the room in general. "At least I can buy you an exciting wedding trousseau and your maternity wear. I know this quaint little shop on the boulevard that has the most adorable clothes for mother's to be."

Lindsay and Jeff exchanged glances, his laughing, hers desperate for deliverance.

"Let the kids be, okay Bev? I think they're old enough to know what they're doing. How would you like to join me for dinner tonight at The Cabana?" He led her toward the door.

Beverly giggled like a schoolgirl. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glowed like sparkling sapphires. Was this the start of something big? Could they possibly become stepbrother and stepsister after all?

Lindsay decided not to think about that now. Like Scarlet O'Hara, she would think about that another day. Tonight, she had even more important business.

"If Mother's ready, so am I." Lindsay took a deep breath and smiled radiantly.

Jeff rubbed her tummy wondrously and then squeezed her hand as he led her out the door in the midst of flashing lights. He led her to the podium. The crowd hushed in anticipation. Sabrina turned pale as the winter snow when she saw Jeff and Lindsay walk out hand in hand, glowing with joy.

Jeff smiled his most charming smile at Lindsay and held fast to her hand when she hesitated to climb the stage stairs to the podium. He was very protective and caring with her. "O, how I love thee! How I dote on thee!" Jeff quoted his favorite Shakespeare, his lips feather light against hers, driving her insane, making her wish all these people away so she could have her lover to herself. He kissed her deeply to the cheers of the audience and the blinding flash of more cameras.

Lifting his head after an eternity, he murmured, "It's time to tell the world our secrets my love."