The Good Girl’s Guide to a Very Bad Christmas

from “The Night Before Christmas Anthology”

By

Kylie Adams

Acknowledgements

For the sassy, sophisticated ladies of Minks Only…

Lea Barton—Artist, fashionista, ferociously fearless. She's a Brooklyn girl by way of a small Mississippi town. But listen up. Because she always has something to say.

Jennifer Hall—A locomotive in lipstick and high heels. Caution: When this girl wants something, give it up or get out of the way. Because she will prevail.

Janet Scott—If ever you needed living proof that fifty is the new forty, then look no further than this tall, blonde, gorgeous, fabulously fit, pistol-packing sharpshooter.

Rita Wray—She knocks down goals like ninepins and does it with the kind of cool, super confidence that makes everyone in the room want to be her when they grow up.

Men vote with their feet. If his shoes are pointed toward you, so is the thing in his trousers.

—Diane Farr

FROM: tinababy@aol.com

TO:        peri@earthlink.net

SUBJECT: DON'T BOOK THE BAND!

Peri,

There's really no delicate way to put this, so I'm just going to come out with it. Your fiancé, Mike Mason, is a scumbag. And I've got proof. It's not pretty. In fact, it's pretty ugly. But you have to see it. As much as it may hurt. Unless you want to be like most girls. You know, the ones who continue booking the band, ordering the flowers, and scheduling the fittings no matter what, because the prospect of having an idiot husband seems better than having no husband at all. But I know you're not that girl. Last night I got an e-mail from my ex, David. He's the guy I dated for a few months before I met Kent. You might recall that I broke up with him over his addiction to Internet porn. Anyway, David came across Mike on one of the sleazy sites he frequents and remembered him from that time the four of us went to the Dave Matthews Band concert. I attach the link below only for your own good. Call me if you need to talk. Tina

htm://bankersgonewild.com/talesfrommestrip/mike.video

Chapter One

"Peri, I'm sorry about your engagement. I know that's gotta suck," Louie said. He tied his black smock and stepped out of the way.

"Thanks. And it does. But life goes on." Peri punched the clock with her time card. Shit. She was just late enough for Owen to dock her a quarter-hour's pay.

"Sometimes the best medicine when you find out your guy's been cheating is to go out there and nail somebody yourself," Louie went on. "And I'm here for you if that's what you need. I'll be that guy."

Peri looked at him.

Louie stared back earnestly, as if he'd just offered a place to crash for relatives in town for a funeral.

Peri grinned. The boy was speaking from the depths of his twenty-two-year-old, party animal heart. "I appreciate that so much. It's very thoughtful. But I think I'm going to pass."

"Am I on crack, or was there supposed to be a fucking shift change ten minutes ago?" Owen bellowed to no one in particular from some place unseen.

Peri and Louie darted out of the office to take their positions behind the counter as baristas at Rush Hour, an anti-Starbucks coffeehouse on Thompson Street in New York's trendy SoHo.

"Sorry I'm late," Peri said, moving fast to relieve Sabrina, who'd just come off the graveyard midnight-to-eight gauntlet.

"Please take over before I throw something in that bitch's face," Sabrina half-begged, half-threatened in a low whisper. "She acts like I've never made a cappuccino before."

Peri glanced up to see one of Rush Hour's like-clockwork regulars—a high-strung assistant fashion editor for Vogue. The impression always lingered that if her Guatemalan Huehuetenango cappuccino wasn't prepared just so, then furniture would go flying.

"I've got this," Peri assured Sabrina with an amused laugh. "Go. Leave this place. Sleep." She finished up and sent the fashionista with the Obsessive Coffee Disorder on her way. And then he approached the counter.

Chase McCloud.

Almost instantly, Peri's heart began beating as fast as a little bird's. It seemed impossible. But each time she saw him in person, he appeared to be even more handsome. Like today, in his distressed brown leather bomber jacket, vintage Lynyrd Skynyrd rocker tee, destroyed-wash denim jeans, and motorcycle boots, Chase McCloud was dressed to torture women. And for that matter, certain men, too. The black cashmere skull cap that covered his forehead and ears only added to his appeal, because it accentuated his piercing blue eyes.

Chase smiled at Peri. "Caramel Frappuccino," he said.

Peri smiled right back. "You're breaking my heart."

And he was. And he did. Every time she saw him. In person. Or on television.

Chase shrugged, grinning, showing perfect teeth, displaying even more perfect dimples. "Okay, okay. I'll take the usual."

It was their little joke. After all, Rush Horn was the choice for coffee hardliners. Skinny latte drinkers were encouraged to queue up at one of the corporate chains where the Java slaves wouldn't know a well-brewed coffee from a cup of week-old Sanka.

Peri moved like lightning to prep Chase's ritual request—a Nicaraguan ristretto. Definitely a morning hit for the serious-minded, as it was like an espresso but with half the amount of water.

"Any luck on the acting front?" Chase asked.

"I got a part in a play," Peri answered modestly, casting her eyes downward. "Off, off, off Broadway." She laughed a little.

He nodded and laughed along with her. "I've been in some of those. But that's okay. Work is work."

Oh, God, was he hot. For a millisecond, Peri indulged in the exquisite art of just drinking him in. "When it lasts. In the middle of our first cast reading, we found out that the financing fell through. So…"

Chase glanced around for a moment, searching for the right words. "Oh … well, I've been in some of those, too, actually." Now he laughed a little.

And this time Peri joined in.

"Have you ever auditioned for Physical Evidence?" Chase asked.

Peri shook her head. Physical Evidence was only one of the hottest shows on television, running a close second to C.S.I. in the ratings race, thanks to the viewing public's insatiable desire for gory forensic crime dramas.

Chase had a supporting role in the series. He played Bingo Grant, a cooler-than-cool junior investigator with a penchant for mouthing off to superiors. As far as Peri was concerned, he never got enough screen time.

"The show needs at least fifteen guest actors for each episode. Pick up a copy of Back Stage and give it a shot." Chase leaned forward confidentially, giving her the full benefit of his aftershave.

Peri recognized it as Dior Higher. Hints of pear, basil, and frosted citrus were strong in her nostrils as she hung on every syllable tripping off his spectacular lips.

"A single-day walk-on pays about seven hundred bucks. A speaking part could take a week to shoot. That pays a little over two grand."

Peri's eyes widened. "I had no idea."

Chase gave her a severe nod. "Before I lucked out with this Physical Evidence gig, I survived on the Law & Order franchise." He chuckled. "Once I was a lawyer on the original Law & Order, a prison inmate on Special Victims Unit, and the boyfriend of a murder victim on Criminal Intent. All in the same week. But I paid my rent that month. And I had more for dinner than Ramen noodles, too."

Peri could feel her central nervous system adjusting to the current reality. This marked the longest conversation she'd ever had with Chase McCloud. Why did he have to be nice, funny, helpful, empathetic, encouraging, and self-deprecating? Now her fan-girl crush was morphing into something much more.

In a nervous gesture, she played with her brunette hair, moving it behind her ear. "I auditioned for a TV show once, and the casting director told me I was 'bland and way too half-hour.' God, I was so embarrassed. Since then, I've pretty much been sticking to theater."

Chase paid for his caffeine fix and dropped a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar. "That's one guy. You can't listen to him. I had a woman tell me once that I'd be lucky to get cast as a fraternity extra in a National Lampoon movie. I kept at it and got lucky." He winked. "You will, too."

The man in line behind Chase cleared his throat impatiently.

Chase patted the counter with a gloved hand. "Take it easy." He started out, and she wondered if he was aware of her eyes burning into his back, because he stopped at the door, spun quickly, and hollered out, "Get Back Stage today! I want to see you on my set!" He paused a beat, smiling at her, realizing that he was causing a mini-commotion. "What's your last name, Peri?"

"Knight," she called out.

"Peri Knight," Chase repeated thoughtfully. "Now that's a name for television!" And then he was gone.

Peri could feel the blush staining her cheeks.

"A double espresso with hot milk on the side would be nice," the next customer barked. "Any time you feel like it, honey. I was only supposed to be at work five minutes ago."

"Coming right up," Peri chirped, practically floating and feeling no irritation whatsoever. Nobody could get under her skin today.

Nobody except her mother, of course.

"Tina's a troublemaker," Suzanne Knight was saying. "I've never liked that girl. She wants to spoil things for you. Just so she can have Mike for herself."

"Mom, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say," Peri argued, struggling to fish cash out of her coin purse without taking off her gloves.

The newsstand guy, gloveless and unaffected by the bitter cold, just stood there like a statue in the park until she produced the necessary funds to claim a copy of Back Stage as her own.

"Anyway, Peri, you're overreacting to this situation. How can you be one hundred percent sure that it's Mike on that video?"

"Okay, that's the dumbest thing you've ever said. The bit about Tina comes in second." Peri stuffed the casting weekly into her tote bag and started down the frozen sidewalk, cellular clamped to ear.

"It could be anybody on that tape. Think of all the things they can do with trick photography."

Peri sighed. "Mom, the distinctive birthmark on Mike's ass is clearly visible. And at one point in the video, you can distinctly hear him yelling, 'Mike Mason rules! Fuckin' A,' while he's having sex with the stripper." One beat. "So there's really no room for conspiracy theories. It's him."

"What am I supposed to tell his mother? Since you broke off the engagement, Caroline Mason has left me two messages. I can't avoid her forever."

"I don't know. Tell her that she raised a pig. See where the conversation goes from there."

"Peri, I can't believe you're willing to throw away an entire future over this … incident. At the end of the day, it's a meaningless encounter."

"Meaningless to him maybe. Not to me." Peri charged on, even as the bitter winter wind sliced into her, chilling her to the very marrow of her bones. This thrift-shop coat was for shit. But the train station was just a few blocks away. She could make it. And driving her mother insane would be just the entertainment to keep her mind focused on something besides the cold.

"The Masons are a strong family, Peri. Mike is a fifth-generation banker at Manhattan National. His future is secure. You'll live in a fine apartment. You'll summer in the Hamptons. Your kids will have access to the best schools. You could build a great life with him."

"It's not the life I want," Peri said. "In all honesty, this breakup hasn't been that devastating. I'm relieved. God, I'm even grateful … that Mike gave me this out. I've known for a long time that he wasn't the right guy for me. But I accepted his proposal, and part of me just didn't want to admit that I was wrong to do that. So I stuck with it, and I interpreted things to support the idea that I loved him. But I don't. And I don't think I ever did. He just doesn't thrill me."

"He just doesn't thrill you," Suzanne Knight echoed, her voice weary with impatience. "Sometimes you have to grow up, Peri. There's more to life than thrills. Look at your situation. You make an hourly wage behind a coffee counter, so you can pursue this acting thing, and you couldn't buy a cup of coffee from all the money you've earned from your so-called craft. You don't have any health insurance. You had to take in a crazy roommate to stay in that horrible apartment, and you still need me and your father to subsidize the rent every month. That kind of vagabond lifestyle is only cute when you're twenty. After that, it's pathetic and irresponsible."

Peri's blood began to boil a little. It always came down to money. If her parents handed it out, then they thought that it put them in the captain's chair to control her life.

"There's a meeting I want you to attend tonight," Suzanne announced.

Peri was instantly suspicious. Right away she thought it might be some kind of intervention involving the Masons. "What kind of meeting?"

"The American Promise Makers."

Peri groaned. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm very serious. It's just an introductory seminar, but I already paid the two-hundred-dollar registration fee, and you are going. It's being held in the auditorium of a Brooklyn high school. Check your e-mail when you get home for the details."

"Mom, I'm not schlepping out to Brooklyn in this weather to listen to some wack job tell me that feminists are evil and that The Surrendered Wife should be required reading."

"See, you're already judging the information before you've had a chance to hear it."

"I know about this group," Peri persisted. "It's just a bunch of crazy women who want to pretend that it's the fifties again. Tell them to send me a pamphlet. I'm not going."

"Yes, you are," Suzanne said sharply.

"No, I'm not," Peri shot back, her tone equally sharp. Thank God. There, right across the street, was the subway. "Listen, I'm about to go into a train station, so I'm probably going to lose you…"

"Wait just a minute."

"I have to—"

"Patricia Perriman Knight! You don't have to do anything but listen to your mother!"

The use of her full name combined with the primal scream stopped Peri in her tracks.

"For years, your father and I have indulged you with this dream of becoming an actress. We've paid for training and head shots and God knows what else. All I'm asking you to do is attend one Promise Makers meeting with an open mind. Is that so much to ask?"

Yes, it was.

"The reason why women are unhappy and unfulfilled in marriage today is a simple one: They try to do too much." Paige McCoy stopped talking, looked out at the sea of attentive listeners in the auditorium of Brooklyn's Cobble Hill School of American Studies, and smiled in quiet acknowledgment of the hundred or so female heads bobbing up and down in unified agreement.

But Peri's head did not move.

Paige McCoy walked to the lip of the stage, her smug, listen-to-me-because-I-know-the-secret voice carried by one of those wireless, headset microphones, the kind Britney Spears uses even when she lip-synchs in concert. But Paige McCoy was no Britney. In her pink-and-black boucle jacket, black wool crepe ruffle-hem skirt, and wedge-heeled Mary Janes by Taryn Rose, she was oh-so Charlotte from Sex and the City.

In fact, as Peri swept an assessing gaze over the crowd, she discovered that the auditorium was chock-ablock full of Charlotte types—attractive, fashionable, yet with a conservative touch, and palpably yearning for the Modern Bride fantasy of marriage and family to come true.

And here sat Peri Knight, the definitive odd-girl-out in her youth-hostel-chic ensemble of ethnic headwrap, thrift-shop coat, baggy cargo pants, and lace-up shearling boots, fresh from a self-imposed engagement bust-up and unable to wipe the mystified expression off her face as Paige McCoy blathered on.

"Don't listen to the feminists, ladies. They tell us that the key to happiness is equality. But I've been there, sisters. Once upon a time, I crashed through the glass ceiling. I earned the kind of income that made my husband's salary look like lunch money. I had a say in everything that went on in our household, from how we approached finances to when or if we would make love. And you know what? I'd never felt more miserable. Seek relationship equality, sisters, and you will only get emotional inequity."

Peri knew that her mouth had dropped open, that her eyes were wide with shock, that her chest was tight with the fury of silent protest. And yet, as she looked around, it seemed as if every other woman in the room was just smiling in lockstep agreement.

"Sisters, you are here today because you want to make a promise. A promise to yourselves. And most importantly, a promise to your husbands, present or future." Paige McCoy walked back and forth across the stage, making eye contact with the first few rows of disciples, beaming gotcha looks to each and every one. "A true Promise Maker surrenders to her husband's leadership in all aspects of marriage. A true Promise Maker knows that her best talents are utilized in avoiding boredom in the bedroom."

"This Stepford bullshit is un-fucking-believable," Peri muttered under her breath.

The objection was loud enough to incur scowls and hisses from the women in her immediate orbit.

"It's like I always say," Paige McCoy went on, "a true Promise Maker is something of a Wonder Woman. She's Betty Crocker in the kitchen and Jenna Jameson in the bedroom."

A cacophony of chuckles filled the auditorium.

"But a true Promise Maker is not indulgent to fantasy. She's not one of those 'desperate housewives' who covets young, virile men or the mysterious neighbor next door. She doesn't harbor erotic thoughts about celebrities, either. Her husband is her king. And she is there to make him feel like one. Especially in the bedroom. Do this, sisters, and you will never have to worry about your husband's wandering eye. And if he does stray, then that's your cue to double up your efforts at making his bedroom a more exciting place to play."

By now, Peri was beyond disgusted. She began gathering her things to leave and made no attempt to be quiet about it.

"Sisters, I challenge you to write down five erotic fantasies involving a man other than your king," Paige McCoy said.

A ripple of shock moved through the crowd. Uncertain glances were shared. Some titters, too.

Peri hesitated.

"Go ahead," Paige McCoy encouraged them. "Give voice to these desires. State them for the record."

Peri watched as shameful pens went to work on shameful legal pads. Suddenly intrigued by the assignment, she joined in and began to write.

1. Have sex with Chase McCloud.

2. Have sex with Chase McCloud while he's wearing his Bingo Grant costume.

3. Have sex with Chase McCloud after waking up with Chase McCloud and eating a breakfast that Chase McCloud prepared.

4. Have sex with Chase McCloud again.

Repeat items 1-4 with Chase McCloud.

"And now, sisters," Paige McCoy instructed, "I implore you to renounce these thoughts as psychic garbage and symbolically rip them to shreds!"

The sound of paper being torn echoed through the auditorium.

But Peri Knight merely slipped her private page into her tote bag and walked out. Somewhere between the frigid walk on Baltic Street and the takedown of a cab to whisk her to the train station, she decided what to do with her secret fantasy list. Peri was going to post it on the door of her refrigerator.

The thought of how horrified Paige McCoy would be about that conjured up a secret joy in Peri that triggered a spell of uncontrollable laughter.

How's that for a promise, bitch?

BACK STAGE

Open Casting: Film & Television

Project Type:         Television

Full Project Name: PHYSICAL EVIDENCE

Union:                      SAG

Rate:                       Scale

Location:                 New York

Shooting Date:        Not Set

Casting Studio:       Silver Screen Studios

Audition Date:        December 16, 9:00 A.M.

Production Co.:       Fingerprints & Fibers, Inc.

Address:                  Chelsea Piers, Pier 62

Seeking

Attractive actress to believably play assistant district attorney between ages mid-20s and early 30s. Sexy, intelligent, confident, take-no-prisoners attitude, fast talker.

Performers of all ethnic and racial backgrounds are encouraged to attend.

Chapter Two

"Owen, please," Peri begged. "I have to make this audition. Let me go, and I'll forego my Christmas bonus."

"I don't give Christmas bonuses," Owen snapped.

"That's what you always say," Peri countered. "And every year, you slip us a little red envelope with a hundred-dollar bill inside. By the way, we're out of Ethiopian Yirgacheffe."

"It's on order," Owen said automatically.

Peri followed the Rush Hour owner-manager into the storage room, where he proceeded to rip open a box of custom-made china filters.

He glanced up. "You're on the clock, and we've got a line of customers going out to the sidewalk."

Peri pleaded with her big brown eyes. "If I leave right now, I can make it on time."

Owen sighed defeat. "I need to find some slackers with zero ambition. This is killing my schedule. Everyone here wants to be an actor."

"Actually, that's not true," Peri said, ripping off her Rush Hour smock. "Angela wants to be a dancer, Julie wants to be a singer, and Louie's working on a screenplay." She made a dash for the door, then suddenly halted. "You didn't take my offer to give up the Christmas bonus seriously, did you? Because I'm broke and was really counting on it."

Owen waved her off without eye contact.

Peri took that as a yes, raced to grab her tote bag and weekend carryall, bundled up, and clocked out. She weaved in and out of cranky customer bodies to reach the exit door.

Once her feet hit the sidewalk, she experienced a thrilling sense of freedom and lurched forward to get a good running start. But merely a few strides into her escape, she crashed into a hard body and went down fast on the cold concrete.

"Peri?"

For a moment, she was dazed. And then she saw Chase McCloud kneeling down in front of her, reaching out both hands to help her up. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, embarrassed, feeling like a clumsy fool and horrified to see the contents of her tote bag littered along the sidewalk. Did the entire population of New York really need to see her past-due notice from Providian Visa and know that this week's train reading was The Stud by Jackie Collins?

"Is the coffeehouse on fire or something?" Chase asked with a laugh as he piloted her to the standing position. "You almost mowed me down."

Funny he should ask about fire, as his touch was burning through the thick fabric of her winter wear. Peri smiled apologetically, watching in helpless wonder as Chase solicitously bent down to retrieve her wind-strewn belongings.

He came across the latest issue of Back Stage. It was folded back to the film and television casting pages, a single notice circled in red marker. He looked up at her, beaming. "You're going for it. Good for you."

"I know," Peri said excitedly. "I'm auditioning for your show in, like, twenty minutes!"

Chase moved fast to collect the rest of her things. "Then you better take off. I'll put in a good word when I get to the set. My first call isn't until noon." He transferred the tote bag and weekender back to her. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Peri said, almost breathlessly.

All of a sudden, Chase let out a piercing whistle and hailed a cab. He shoved some cash at the driver and said, "Take this lady to Chelsea Piers, number sixty-two," before ushering her into the rear cabin and shutting the door. He smacked the hood with his gloved palm, and the taxi took off.

Peri watched the events unfold in some kind of awestruck daze, deliriously hopeful for the future, totally amazed that these random star sightings were developing into a real connection, and completely unaware that her list of top five sexual fantasies had just blown onto Chase McCloud's foot.

Peri did a quick change in the backseat. Off went the thrift-shop coat. On went the caramel herringbone seamed jacket with flutter sleeves. Good-bye Old Navy cargo pants. Hello matching flat-front slacks with wide legs. Luckily, the black turtleneck she routinely wore to Rush Hour could stay. When she fastened the three big buttons of the snug-fitting jacket, the hot-milk stain was completely covered up. Taking a deep breath, she fingered her grandmother's iridescent starburst brooch for good luck.

A terrible fear lanced her brain. Shoes! Frantically, she unzipped the weekend bag. There were the dark-chocolate nappa leather boots. Relief flooded through her bloodstream. For a moment, Peri thought her entire audition had just ended before it began. After all, how could she show up for the role of a no-nonsense legal eagle in a battered pair of Uggs?

The driver stopped at Pier 62.

Peri swung out and made a dash for the entrance, the cold breeze coming off the Hudson fighting her the whole way. But she won that battle. It was the next one that would be impossible to win. Lined up in the gray-carpeted hallway were what looked to be hundreds of women just like her—dressed to prosecute and desperate for a speaking part on a hit television series.

She slumped against the wall at the end of the queue, feeling her hope of success fade as quickly as her labored breathing from the sprint.

The statuesque blonde beside Peri gave her a glance that translated into "What are you doing here?"

As Peri studied the competition, she began asking herself the same question. It was wall-to-wall beautiful women, longer legs, bigger breasts, better clothes. And unlike Peri, they weren't afraid to do the low-cut blouse, the tight skirt, anything to ratchet up the sensuality.

A fresh-faced girl who looked young enough to be a college intern emerged from an office and started down the line, passing out a single script page as she said, "You're reading for the part of Elise Mills. Please have your, head shots and résumés ready. We'll get to you as soon as we can. Thank you for coming."

Peri cooled her heels for almost two hours before her turn arrived. She stepped into the room to find two women and one man seated behind a table, looking weary and unimpressed.

"I'm Peri Knight," she muttered, punctuating the announcement with a nervous laugh. "Here's my head shot and résumé." With great awkwardness, she placed the pages on the edge of the table and returned to the center of the room.

One of the women scanned her résumé. The expression on her face told the world she'd just tasted something bad. "No television experience?"

"No," Peri answered apologetically. "I've had several callbacks for commercials, though. So … almost." Her nervous laugh returned for an encore.

"We're casting for Elise Mills today," the other woman launched in robotically. "She's assistant D.A., very confident, very sexy, a take-no-prisoners attitude."

Peri nodded to the beat of each character trait, even as she realized that none of them had ever been used to describe her. She took a deep breath. Okay. So this is why they called it acting.

The man spoke up for the first time. "And just as an aside—this bit of background might inspire a different spin on your reading. Elise has a personal history with the Bingo character. They slept together once, and he never called. Now they're forced to work one-on-one to prep his testimony for a lawsuit against the crime lab."

"Does this mean I'll be reading with Chase McCloud?" Peri asked. Her heart took off while she waited for the answer.

"Not today," the first woman answered. "Chase will be reading only with the final three."

"Okay," the other woman cut in. "Ready when you are."

Peri glanced at the page of script, sucked in a terrified breath, and shut her eyes for a moment, working hard to channel the spirit of Heather Locklear from Melrose Place. What would Amanda's body language be? How would Amanda say it?

Suddenly inspired, Peri stalked toward the table and delivered her reading directly to the man. "I'm not here to bust your balls, Brett. I'm here to save your ass. It's your team's shoddy work that put what should be a nuisance case on the fast track to trial. I'm guessing you're not the kind of man who'd take advice from a woman, especially one that didn't breast-feed you. But here goes. Try worrying less about my attitude and more about your resident cowboy's. Christopher Dockett is one of the top plaintiff's attorneys in the country. I wouldn't want to be cross-examined by him about what I ate for breakfast. Meanwhile, Bingo's walking around like this is a small claims matter in Judge Judy's court." She stepped closer to the table and lowered her voice for emphasis. "If this goes the wrong way, Brett, the award could easily go double-digit millions. That'll be a nice footnote for your career."

Peri stopped. Suddenly, she was out of her Elise Mills zone and aware of her surroundings again. She glanced down at the script page. "Um … should I read the next part?"

The casting team exchanged a series of odd looks, then turned back to Peri, seemingly regarding her in a whole new light.

"I like her," the first woman said. "We've had a parade of supersexy types file in here, but I actually believe that she's a lawyer."

"She knows she has a brain," the second woman added. "And she doesn't advertise sexy to get attention."

"Which in and of itself is sexy," the man put in. "She's pretty in an accessible way."

"Women will like her for that," the first woman agreed.

"So will men," the man pointed out. "The Sports Illustrated swimsuit model is what we fantasize about, but at the end of the day, we're terrified of her."

"Great job," the second woman praised. "Can you come back tomorrow for a reading with Chase?"

"This is amazing!" Tina squealed. "Oh, my God! You're going to get this part. I can just feel it."

Peri blocked out the thought. She didn't want to jinx it by jumping that far ahead. "Look, right now I'm just thrilled to have a callback." She breathed a sigh of relief into her cellular.

"But you have an in with Chase McCloud," Tina said, her voice up several octaves. "He said that he was going to put a word in, right?" She let out an annoyed sigh. "Hold on. Don't buy anything from her. All her clothes smell like cigarettes. Shoo her away before she stinks up the shop. Okay, I'm back."

Peri smiled. Tina Rich managed Something Borrowed, one of the city's most popular vintage-clothing and consignment boutiques. She became a fast friend after Peri made it a ritual to duck into the store at least once a week to dig through the racks for new finds.

"I can't believe this," Tina went on breathlessly. "You're going to be on Physical Evidence. You have to tell me when, so I can set my TiVo."

"Tina, stop," Peri protested lamely. Deep down, she enjoyed her friend's optimism. Maybe saying it out loud would make it come true. "It's only a callback, and I don't have any television experience. It really is a long shot."

"No, it's not," Tina said sharply. "They already know about your lack of TV experience. And trust me, these people didn't call you back just to make you feel good. You're a fresh face, and that's what they're responding to. People are plucked from nowhere to star in shows all the time. Like that girl from Lost. She beat out big names for that part."

"I just don't want to—"

Beep.

Peri glanced at the screen to identify the incoming call. She didn't recognize the number. "Tina, this could be the casting office. I'll call you back." She disengaged Tina and clicked on the mystery caller. "Hello?"

"I believe congratulations are in order." It was Chase McCloud.

Peri shut her eyes and jumped up and down. Chase McCloud was calling her cell phone!

"It's Chase," he said. "I scammed your number from casting. I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not. I didn't get a chance to thank you for the cab. That was sweet."

"I'm just glad things worked out. Rumor has it that you really wowed them today."

Peri laughed modestly. "I don't know. I just feel lucky to have a callback."

"How about dinner tonight?" Chase asked. "And afterward, we can run lines together. That way, you'll kick ass again at tomorrow's reading."

"That sounds great."

"One of my favorite spots is Mas in the West Village. How about meeting there at ten?"

"Perfect," Peri chirped. But right away her brain went to work deconstructing the invitation. Was this just a friendly actor reaching out to a struggling nobody? Or was this a date?

PHYSICAL EVIDENCE

Season 3: Episode 57

"Blood on the Cross"

SHOOTING DRAFT

7 INT. SATURN 3—UPSCALE BAR/NIGHTCLUB—EVENING

A trendy, professional after-work gathering spot. The scene is crowded with lawyer types. Elise Mills is sitting at the bar, fingering the stem of a near-empty martini glass.

Bingo Grant walks in and generates a ripple of awareness from the women bored with suit-and-tie guys who only want to discuss their master plan to become partner at a firm.

Bingo

(sliding onto the empty seat next to Elise)

No fair. You're way ahead of me already.

(gestures to the bartender)

Draft beer, bud.

Elise

(still offering no eye contact)

I had to do something for the twenty minutes I've been waiting.

Bingo

(sarcastically)

Sorry. I couldn't decide what to wear. I must've changed clothes five or six times.

(glancing around at the other patrons)

You know, part of me wants to start a bar fight right now. Some of these guys in here deserve a black eye and busted lip just on principle alone.

Elise

(rolling her eyes)

Ooh—a man with open hostility for lawyers. You're nothing if not original.

(signals to the bartender for another martini)

Bingo

I'm surprised you wanted to meet here.

Elise

Here being what? The scene of the crime?

Bingo

Was it a crime? I thought we just had a night of meaningless sex.

Elise

You should ask around. Sex with you is considered a criminal act.

Bingo

I guess anything that makes you feel that good has to be illegal.

8 INT. BINGO'S APARTMENT—LATER

As if following moonlight, camera pans living room floor, tracking scattered clothes—a man's and a woman's—along a path to the bedroom, where two lovers are locked in a feverish embrace.

Elise

(in a low, passionate, breathless growl)

You bastard. I'm supposed to be preparing you to take the stand.

Bingo

Don't worry. You won't leave here until I get a thorough cross-examination.

(silences her with a kiss)

Chapter Three

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the poached lobster, Peri began to feel the tingle of the alcohol and the energy of animated flirtation.

Chase McCloud knew how to charm.

Mas was a quaint restaurant nestled on Downing Street in the West Village, a secret hideaway teeming with intimacy and French-countryside flavor. The wait staff was slavishly attentive, the menu deliciously eclectic.

After accepting Chase's dinner invitation, Peri had made a mad dash to Tina's Something Borrowed boutique, where she found an exquisite camel-colored cowl-neck poncho in Italian wool and a gorgeous, squeal-worthy pair of Spanish leather knee boots in her size. She put them together with her favorite pair of Seven jeans, her best black silk blouse, and vintage chandelier earrings. With her dark hair sexy-messy in that morning-after-a-great-night way and her makeup flawless, Peri felt like she had no change left from a million.

Which was a good way to feel when sitting across from Chase McCloud. There was handsome, there was beautiful, and then there was superhumanly gorgeous. He definitely stood behind door number three.

"So," Chase began, settling back between courses and taking a slow sip of wine. "What did you think of the new pages?"

"Shocked, to put it mildly."

Chase smiled. "The part's been upgraded to lead guest star. That means it'll pay more than five grand."

Peri's mind swirled with the news. "I still can't believe I'm up for it."

He raised his glass in salute. "You're not only up for it. You're the one to beat."

Peri refused to believe it. She filed this under flattery. Nothing more.

"I'm serious," Chase said, picking up on her doubtfulness. "And I might have you to thank for a better story arc."

"What do you mean?"

"The show's been criticized for too many stand-alone episodes that focus just on the investigations. Viewers are interested in the characters, too. Finally, the producers and writers are starting to come around. It's been implied that Bingo's a player, but do you realize that they've never even shown him on so much as a dinner date? Seems like all I do on the show is dust for fingerprints and mouth off to the bosses. Don't get me wrong, though. I realize that it's a great gig. But after a few years of the same scenes over and over again, it's easy to forget how grateful you should be." He shrugged. "But now, because of you, I've got something else to do."

"Because of me?" Peri asked.

"This was originally a glorified bit part—one brief scene with the Brett character and another one with Bingo on the witness stand. You showed them something this morning. They started talking, it went back to the writers, and now I'm involved in a major subplot with backstory. You're good luck. I should take you to Vegas."

Peri smiled demurely and busied herself with finishing her wine.

"Is this too late for you? I didn't finish my last scene until nine. Otherwise, I—"

"It's fine," Peri cut in. "I'm a bit of a night owl anyway."

Chase grinned. "Good. After dinner, I thought we'd go back to my place and run lines."

Peri felt the blood rush as she gestured to the script pages on the banquette next to her. "These lines?"

"Yeah, those lines," Chase teased. "Something wrong?"

"No, it's just…"

"I brought home some pieces from wardrobe," he announced. "That way, I'll be in my Bingo Grant gear, and it'll feel more like a real audition."

The sigh of relief that came next was ready-made with a hint of internal disappointment. "For a second there, I thought you meant we'd rehearse the second scene."

"You mean the love scene?" Chase asked.

Peri nodded.

"Oh, we should at least run through it." One beat. "Are you comfortable with that?"

Peri hesitated, not quite sure how to answer. The truth: She was so comfortable with it that she wanted to improvise what wasn't on the page. And her version could definitely take things to a too-hot-for-prime-time level.

"Trust me," Chase assured her. "It's better that we break the ice before the real audition. We can get past the initial awkwardness and establish a real chemistry. Our characters have already been intimate, so we don't want it to look like we're kissing for the first time."

The main entrees arrived, Peri could hardly concentrate on her lamb dish. It was delicious, but she basically took a few bites and pushed the rest around her plate to disguise her lack of appetite.

She asked Chase about his background, even though she knew it by heart, having consumed every bit of information published about him and occasionally Googling him for Internet mentions.

He grew up in Dallas, attended the University of Texas, played college rugby, majored in business, tried out for a campus production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, got the lead, then dropped out of school altogether, moved to New York a month later, and started to get jobs right away. Yes, he was that guy for whom it seemed everything in life came easily—career, friends, sports … women.

Peri had seen the paparazzi photos. Chase at the People's Choice Awards with an unknown blonde. Chase at the Screen Actor's Guild Awards with a vaguely familiar brunette actress. Chase at the opening of the new Helmut Lang store with a Maxim model.

And now, here he sat with her, the struggling actress and part-time barista. Peri was hardly the pinup type. The question begged to be asked: Why was he with her?

Chase smiled at her while digging into a sinful mixture of peppermint ice cream and flourless dark chocolate cake.

Peri grinned back. "What?"

"I'm trying to picture you in this part. It's definitely not typecasting. You're so cute and sweet. It'll be fun to see you channel your inner vixen."

Pen swooped her spoon in for a small bite of cake. "I can be bad," she said silkily.

"Oh, yeah?" The look he gave her was hotter than lava.

"Don't put Baby in a corner," Peri said, referencing that notoriously awful line from Dirty Dancing. Chase laughed.

Peri drank deeply from what was now her fourth glass of wine. The slight buzz made her feel alternately bold and reluctant. But one impression lingered. How many dinners like this had Chase orchestrated? The desperate actress. The audition. The love-scene rehearsal. It was either a real dream-come-true or the worst casting couch cliché being played out at her expense. Peri felt herself withdraw.

Instantly, Chase picked up on it. "Is something wrong?"

"No, of course not," Peri lied … badly. And she called herself an actress? "It's just … I can't help but wonder how often you do this."

"Order dessert?" Chase joked. "Hardly ever."

Peri smiled at his evasive answer, then narrowed her gaze playfully, letting him know that there was no getting around a straight answer.

He raised his right hand in the peace sign. "Scout's honor: I've never scammed an actress's number from the casting office before. Yours is the first."

Peri believed him. So she wasn't the flavor of the week. This was a good sign.

"These days, I'm more used to women giving me their numbers." He pointed at her accusingly. "But you never did. Forgive me if I'm clumsy, but my muscles in the fine art of female pursuit have atrophied a bit."

Peri rolled her eyes skyward at his sweet attempt at self-deprecation. "Well, I'm sure it's kind of like riding a bike."

"I'm not a serial dater," Chase announced. "I went through my man-whore phase during the first season of Physical Evidence." He shook his head at the thought, almost shuddering. "You wouldn't have wanted to know me then."

"That bad?"

"Pretty bad. But I got it out of my system. The second season I tried to date seriously, but nothing made it past the three-month mark, and even then, I was struggling to make it that far."

"This is your third season. So what's it going to be—marriage or celibacy?"

Chase arched his brow. "According to one of my co-stars, there's no difference." He sipped slowly on his wine. "I never want to settle, you know? To stay with someone or, God forbid, marry someone just because it's good enough. I see so many people around me do that. It's like the idea of a relationship is enough for them. But that kind of happiness fades fast."

Peri raised her glass. "Truer words have never been spoken."

"So you can relate?"

"Oh, yes."

"Sounds recent," Chase said gently.

"It is. By a matter of days."

"Rough time of year to go through a breakup."

"Not when it's for the best. I'm not moping around wondering how I'll make it through the holidays. I actually have a chance this year at having a Merry Christmas. I don't think there's anything more lonely than being with the wrong person." Peri gazed at Chase sunnily. "In fact, this just might be one of my favorite Christmases ever."

"Really?"

"Even if I don't get the part. I know that—"

Chase interjected. "You can't think that way. The part is yours. You have to own it. Don't be that doubting actor with the overactive voice in your head that constantly tells you what's not going to happen."

Peri let out a guilty sigh. "I do that to myself all the time." She halted. Oh, God, did she sound like a teetering neurotic? Granted, she had her I'm-not-worthy moments, but deep down, she wasn't that girl. "When it comes to acting, I've never had much of a cheerleading squad. My parents think it's a silly dream, and my fi-…ex-fiancé never took it seriously either."

"That's easy to reverse," Chase said with philosophical directness. "Just find a conscious place where you tell yourself what can happen."

For show, Peri shut her eyes and pretended to try. I can bounce back from a bad relationship with an amazing guy like Chase McCloud.

"I want to hear you say it," Chase whispered.

Peri opened her eyes. "I can…"

"Can I tell you a secret?" Chase whispered, saving her from the words that died in her throat as she got lost in the infinite pools that were his eyes.

Peri nodded blankly.

"I really am a Caramel Frappuccino guy."

She smiled at him. "What are you talking about?"

He laughed a little. "It's true. I hate that Nicaraguan stuff. It's like drinking tar."

Now Peri was laughing. "Well, why do you order it then?"

Chase shrugged in that charming way that guys who've done something stupid do. "Because. The first time I walked through the door of Rush Hour, I took one look at you behind the counter and went, "Wow, I'm in trouble." And I knew this was a serious coffee joint, and I didn't want to half-ass it and create a bad first impression, so I went for the tough stuff."

Peri shook her head, still laughing at him. "That is so adorable. And it was so unnecessary. I was already a fan. God, you could've ordered a chocolate milk, and I still would've thought you were Cary Grant."

"See, it's those damn seduction muscles again. They're not properly conditioned."

"Well, maybe you need to work out more," Peri said.

"You want a pickup line? I've got a great pickup line."

Peri smiled. "You pretty much had me at Caramel Frappuccino, but lay it on me."

"Some love doctors in Japan came up with it. Apparently, it has just the right number of linguistic triggers to make a girl go crazy. Are you ready?"

Peri nodded.

"Rainen no hono hi mo Issho ni waratteeiyoh."

"What does it mean?"

Chase took both of her hands in his now, his smile warm, broad, welcoming, and full of infinite possibility. The sight of him was practically a Christmas miracle. "This time next year, let's be laughing together."

"It doesn't take long for you to get back in shape, does it? I'd go anywhere with you right now."

"Let's get out of here." Chase said.

He opened the steel door to his SoHo apartment on Mercer Street, and Peri stepped inside a spacial wonderland. It was a swamping twenty-three-hundred square feet with thirteen-foot ceilings; exposed pipes, beams, and brick; dark walnut floors; and a gleaming Viking kitchen with a bar that stretched on forever.

"This is incredible," Peri said, marveling at the sophisticated, understated decor.

Chase began flicking on lights, then dimming them for mood creation.

An enormous Maine coon cat sloped in from what appeared to be the bedroom, gave Peri and Chase a bored look, then sloped back.

"That's Bingo the Second," Chase explained. "He's kind enough to let me live here, too."

Peri laughed. "I would love to have a cat, but my roommate's allergic." She thought of Anna Stallings and her allergies, phobias, strange work hours, and obsessive amounts of time spent in Internet chat rooms. "Among other things."

"I know that voice," Chase said, moving over to a sleek butler table to open a bottle of pinot noir. "That's the crazy roommate voice."

"Oh, don't get me started," Peri said, doing her best Fran Drescher.

Chase laughed. "Believe me, I've been there."

"How long have you been here?"

"Just a few months. I kept thinking Physical Evidence was going to be canceled. Finally, once we started the third season, I decided to ditch the studio walk-up and the smelly roommate."

Peri accepted her glass of wine and drank deeply. "It took you until the third season?"

Chase shrugged. "I should probably practice what I preach about that little voice, huh? But I'd been a part of so many pilots that didn't get picked and series that got the ax after just a few episodes. I was a little gun-shy about a mortgage."

"Well, it's a beautiful place."

"Thanks. I can't take much credit, though. My sister's an interior designer in Dallas. She flew in to help out her baby brother."

A silence descended. It was uneasy … but in a good way. The tension wire between them tightened.

Chase gestured to the bar. "Why don't you have a seat? I'll get changed into my Bingo gear, and we can run through the first scene."

Peri sought out the script pages for a quick review, slipped onto one of the bar stools, and mentally prepped for the reading, calling forth the same attitude she had brought to the character earlier that day.

Chase stepped back into the room.

But Peri merely zeroed in on her wineglass, as the scene called for.

"No fair. You're way ahead of me already," he said.

"I had to do something for the twenty minutes I've been waiting." Peri turned to Chase, and the sight of him in full Bingo Grant gear—the police vest, the C.S.I, patch, the laminated photo ID badge—startled her.

For one long, surreal moment, everything stood still. From the very first broadcast of Physical Evidence, Peri had been hooked, never missing an episode. There was just something about Chase McCloud. Maybe it was his charisma and sex appeal, which seemed to run on a divine grade of superhuman fuel.

"I don't think you're supposed to be looking at me like that," Chase said quietly. "At this point in the scene, your character can't stand me."

"Who do you think I am—Meryl Streep?"

Chase smiled the smile of a man who knew he wasn't waking up alone the next morning. "Is it warm enough for you? I can turn up the furnace. I don't want you to be cold when I take off your clothes."

Peri was momentarily taken aback by the intentional, gentlemanly … rudeness. It might've been the sexiest thing any man had ever said to her. In fact, his polite yet potently sexual delivery left her a little bit undone.

She had to admit to herself that she was standing at the lip of the landslide of her fantasy—the one that she lived out every week after the final credits of Physical Evidence rolled, the one that smoked her mind each time he stood in line for his Nicaraguan ristretto, the one that she'd had the temerity to write down in that high school auditorium while sitting among the Promise Makers.

And now here she was, being gently piloted away from the bar, through the living room, and toward his bedroom. For a moment, Peri wondered how many others had run this gauntlet. But then all outside thoughts receded, and the only thing that existed was the two of them.

Chase lifted off her poncho and placed it carefully on the impressively tidy floor. Then he undid the middle button of her shirt and slid his hand inside to fondle her breast while his mouth moved in to claim hers.

Peri's lips parted in semi-amazement. She felt a thrilling tingle. The way their mouths fit so perfectly together. The charm and elegance of his seduction. It was exotic, erotic intoxication. She was drunk on the reality of finally living out the illicit dream that had stalked her mind like a wolf in the woods for so many months.

Chase drew back and carefully unfastened her wrist buttons before undoing the rest. When it was time to slip off her blouse, the fabric fell silkily to the floor, like a perfectly choreographed love scene from a romantic movie.

He moved to stand behind her, briefly letting his hands travel up the inside of her thighs. His fingertips lingered there, lightly, practically a feather touch, but hot enough to burn through the denim and scorch her imagination.

"You've got the softest skin," Chase murmured, unhooking her black lace bra and sliding it off her shoulders. His hands moved fast to caress her breasts, and he started a trail of soft, wet kisses from her shoulder to her neck to her ear … and then back again.

Peri just shut her eyes, basking in the wonderful, terrible notion that something so glorious was happening … and that something so glorious would have to end at some point. She felt like she could go on like this forever.

"You're so beautiful," Chase whispered.

Peri moaned her thanks as his tongue found that erogenous spot in the crevice of her ear. She pushed back against him, feeling the physical proof of his arousal hard against her. Oh, God, he knew how to make a woman feel good.

"I'm going to make love to you until we're so exhausted that we fall asleep," Chase promised in a thick whisper. "And then I'm going to make you breakfast, and we're going to do it all over again. I can't remember the last time a woman turned me on like this." He pressed himself into her back. "Can you feel it? That's what you do to me."

Chase eased her onto the bed and made a show out of removing her boots, her socks, her Seven jeans, her panties. And then he just stood there, staring, as if mesmerized by the first nude woman he'd ever seen in the flesh. "Merry Christmas to me," he murmured.

Peri marveled at the effect this had on her. With Mike, she'd always felt so insecure in bed, careful to always suck in her tummy, too afraid to try anything new with him. It was because he knew nothing of courtesy, generosity, or patience. And as a result, she never felt desirable.

But Chase made her feel like the sexiest, most confident woman in the world. And her arousal matched her newfound sensual belief in herself as she lay there watching him undress himself.

The vest, the pullover, the undershirt, the navy khakis, the boots—everything came off effortlessly. He even de-socked himself without breaking the spell. And the moment he was done, he returned to her, starting with her breasts, sucking slowly, licking them like they were the most delicious thing in the world, over and over again.

When he started to travel down, Peri lifted her hands overhead and gripped the sheets, preparing for the volcanic moment to come.

His mouth lingered between her thighs, hovering there, breathing into her, gently exploring her opening with his fingers. "Are you comfortable?" Chase asked. "Do you need a pillow under your back?"

"I'm fine," Peri breathed, arching her pelvis forward.

"Because I plan on being here for a long time." After that announcement, he moved in for the kill.

And Peri died instantly. Her mouth was open as the breath shuddered in her throat. Everything blistered and burned as he probed her with his fingers, relished her with his moans of pleasure, feasted on her with his tongue. From her slick depths to the tiny tip of her pleasure source, he owned her.

Peri pushed forward, as if welcoming him with her whole body, as the exquisite quickenings started in her stomach, and the slow melt started from the rest of her. She pulled at the sheets with such force that her knuckles were white. And the sexual adrenaline gave her such strength, she heard the distinct sound of a rip.

"Oh, yes, oh, yes, oh, yes," Peri moaned as the incredible feeling took her, lifting her up, spinning her through the sky, and casting her gently down, sweating with steam heat, damp with desire, and basking in the beautiful afterglow.

Chase's face was wet. His expression said that he was happy for her, pleased with himself, and ready for more as soon as she recovered.

God, he was such a gentleman. And it made her feel like not being a lady. The contradiction got her so hot that every part of her body felt like it was on fire. She wanted him to take her. But she didn't want it slow and refined. She wanted it firm and fast. The intense look in her eyes transmitted the order.

And Chase McCloud followed it like a dutiful soldier, entering her with just the right amount of force to let her know that he knew what she wanted. It took mere minutes. But every second thrummed with chivalry … and just a little bit of bite. By the end, he was screaming her name, she was coming a second time, and they were both dizzy, slick with perspiration, and gasping for breath.

Chase disposed of the condom neatly, then nuzzled into her. "Can I get you something to drink?" he asked.

Peri waited for her heaving breaths to subside before answering. "Am I in bed with you, or am I stuck somewhere on the ceiling? I can't tell."

Chase laughed, kissing her shoulder and pulling her closer. "Does that mean the reality isn't a letdown from the fantasy?"

Peri turned to him, a question in her eyes.

Chase grinned. "I have to confess something else. And this is a little sneakier than me being the Caramel Frappuccino guy." He paused a beat.

Peri braced herself.

"After you got in the cab this morning, the wind blew a certain piece of paper onto my foot."

Instantly, Peri knew what it was. That silly erotic fantasy list she had jotted down at the Promise Makers meeting. Oh, God! It was supposed to go on her fridge, and she'd forgotten all about it. Embarrassment swamped her. Playfully, she punched at Chase's broad chest. "You son of a bitch! Why didn't you tell me?"

Chase laughed at her. "Look at you blushing!"

Peri knew her face was burning red. Of course, Chase pointing this out only intensified it. "How did you know that was my list anyway?"

"I didn't—at first. It belonged either to you or to a bald guy who dropped his briefcase." Chase pretended to be worried. "Should I have taken him to dinner?"

"This isn't fair!" Peri wailed. "You knew more about me than I knew that you knew."

"Uh, I think I followed that."

"You don't understand. I was in this stupid seminar, and they told us to—"

He kissed her to make her shut up. "You don't have to explain anything. It was my fantasy, too. Now it's ours. Of course, breakfast will be a challenge. I never have any food here. I'll have to run down to the corner and pick up some bagels and fruit. Does that count?"

Peri nuzzled into him. "Where did you come from?" she marveled. And then, all of a sudden, she halted, disregarding the importance of his answer. "Wait a minute. That's not my line." She closed her eyes for a moment, sucked in a deep breath, and attempted to get into character. "You bastard," she growled. "I'm supposed to be preparing you to take the stand."

"Don't worry. You won't leave here until I get a thorough cross-examination," Chase said, silencing her with a kiss. That part of the scene was art imitating life.

And it was brilliant.

FROM: mmason@manhattannational.com

TO: peri@earthlink.net

SUBJECT: We Need to Talk

Dear Peri,

I've tried calling and stopping by, but you never answer your phone and never seem to be at home. Sooner or later we need to talk about us. You have a right to be mad, but I can't believe you'd end things for good over something like this. I was wrong. I was a jerk. I'll give you that. But I was drunk, and it didn't mean anything. In fact, if the tape hadn't come back to haunt me, then I never would've remembered what happened that night. I don't think you understand much about my job here at the bank. It's a lot of high pressure and high stress. Going to strip clubs is just a way for guys like me to unwind and let off a little steam. Most wives get that and don't care. They'd rather a husband whoop it up with the occasional nameless/interchangeable club dancer than go out for drinks after work with a hot assistant. Maybe you could try spending some time with people in my circle instead of hanging out with those out-of-work actor types all the time. That might help our relationship. Think about it. Love, Mike

FROM: peri@earthlink.net

TO:          mmason@manhattannational.com

SUBJECT: Re: We Need to Talk

Dear Mike,

There is no relationship, so feel free to pursue both strippers and hot assistants.

Peri

Epilogue

"I'm surprised you wanted to meet here," Bingo said.

"Here being what?" Elise countered. "The scene of the crime?

"Was it a crime?" His question mocked her. "I thought we just had a night of meaningless sex."

Elise gave him a look that most people reserved for messes on the side of the road. But deep down, the impression lingered that she just might want to lick it up. "You should ask around. Sex with you is considered a criminal act."

Bingo's smile was all the way cocky. "I guess anything that makes you feel that good has to be illegal."

Chase gave Peri a nod of approval as she broke character and turned to face the casting panel. Only this time, she had no pre-existing doomsday thoughts that one of them might utter the fatalistic phrase, "Don't call us. We'll call you."

The man spoke first. "I think I need a cigarette. The chemistry between the two of you is hot."

"I say cancel the other readings," one of the women chimed in. "It doesn't get any better than this."

"Merry Christmas, Peri," the other woman said happily. "I believe you're needed in wardrobe."

THE NEW YORK POST

"Page Six"

STOCKING STUFFER

Newbie actress Peri Knight sure is having a very Merry Christmas. Last week the struggling thespian was fetching coffee at Java hot spot Rush Hour. Now she's landed a recurring role on television's sizzling hit PHYSICAL EVIDENCE and her hunky co-star, Chase McCloud. The two have been spotted canoodling all over the city. The lucky lady is bouncing back fast from a breakup with former fiancé and Manhattan National heir, Mike Mason. The hotshot banker recently caused a scene at stripper haven Scores Westside. It seems bouncers had to eject him after his credit card was declined. Friends say Peri refers to her ex as "the bad dream." It's no wonder. This year TV's new rising star has something far better under the tree.

* * * * *