Second Time Around (16 page)

“No.”

“They’ll say that David Stancowsky is a good fiancé who is willing to sacrifice his own comfort to be near his dear Millie. To make sure she feels loved.”

She stared at the space between them a few moments, then fell back into the covers, pulling them to her chin.

He stood. “Would you like me to tuck you in again?”

She shook her head.

He sat back in the chair. Her wish was his command.

EIGHT

No temptation has seized you
except what is common to man.

1 Corinthians 10:13

Present-Day Montebello

Toby Bjornson’s hand shook as he dialed the number. He hadn’t slept well for two nights. The first night was spent making a decision. The next morning he’d called in sick and spent most of that day as well as the night hustling up enough nerve to go through with it.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Laney was only going to be gone a week on that Time Lottery thing. He had a lot to do before she came back.

A woman answered, “WKRB, your leading news station. How may I help you?”

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I need to speak to Diane Madison.”

“Pertaining to what, please?”

“Laney… Lane Holloway. I have information.”

Her voice changed, sounding wary. “Ms. Madison is in a meeting. May I take a message?”

“I need to talk to her. Now. She’ll want to talk to me.”

“And why is that?”

He took a fresh breath. “Because I’m Toby. Lane Holloway’s Toby.”

A pause. Then, “Hold, please.”

Toby laughed. This was going to be great.

Atlanta

Reporters and more reporters, all wanting to talk to
him,
Yardley Pruitt. It was very flattering, even if they only wanted to talk to him because his daughter was a Time Lottery winner. Why not take advantage of it? There should be some perk for being her father. He hadn’t talked to any of them yet but had spent last evening working up a statement, a press release that detailed their strong father-daughter relationship and explained how he, as a single father, had been the driving force in Vanessa’s life. He’d even managed to insert a mention of his business, Fidelity Mutual Bank.

Ready to leave for work, he pulled the living-room curtain to the side and scoped out the front of the house. There were four reporters gathered near the row of oak trees that lined the street, or rather, three reporters and a TV cameraman. Yardley could easily go into the garage, get in his car, and back out without speaking to them. Or… he could exit through the front door and walk
around
to the garage.
“Mr. Pruitt! Mr. Pruitt! Can we ask you a few questions?”

Then, as the essence of graciousness, he would slip in his statement as if he was always this eloquent first thing in the morning. Perfect. He hadn’t gotten where he was without learning how to commandeer a moment. He was a master commander.

He straightened his tie, took up his briefcase and keys, and exited the house through the front. Once outside, he turned his back to the street in order to lock the dead bolt, giving the reporters time to reach him. Photos against the majesty of his home would be ideal.

The reporters did not disappoint but ran close, shouting their questions. “Mr. Pruitt! Mr. Pruitt! Can we ask you a few questions?” Had he pegged it, or what?

He turned around and feigned a surprised look, then let it change to one of dignified cooperation. “Of course. I suppose I can spare a few minutes.”

A pretty blond spoke into a microphone. “Your daughter went back to 1976 in order to spend time with your ex-wife, Dorian Pruitt Cleese. She must have been quite an amazing woman for Vanessa to use her one chance at the Time Lottery to visit her. Can you tell us about her and why your daughter did not have contact with her all these years?”

Yardley found himself tongue-tied. They wanted to talk about Dorian?

When he didn’t answer, another reporter asked, “Records indicate that your ex-wife recently passed away. And she’d remarried years ago—though her second husband is no longer living. Did you go to the funeral?”

“No comment.” He turned his back on them, fumbled the key in the lock, and escaped inside the house.

This was not what he had in mind. Not at all.

It was all Vanessa’s fault.

Kansas City

Mac watched Toby Bjornson on the small TV in his office. This was not good. Not good at all. It was a blessing when they went to commercial.

A moment later, Wriggens stormed in. He pointed at the TV. “You saw?”

“I saw.”

“What hole did he crawl out of?”

“When Lane said his name at the press conference, I knew this was a possibility.”

“Which is another point I’d like to talk to you about. I really would have liked to be consulted about her telling the press one decision while telling us something different.”

“It was a last-minute request. I didn’t have time to consult you.

“You didn’t make time.”

And your point is…
? Mac returned the subject to the issue at hand. He turned his back on the TV, facing Wriggens head-on. “Toby’s coming forward could be a plus if—”

Wriggens’s laugh was not kind. “He’s a loser. He’s a construction peon. Probably makes five bucks an hour, and face it, clean shirt or no clean shirt, he’s a prime candidate for a makeover on one of those TV shows. Dirt-bucket was the description that came to mind.”

It was apt.

Wriggens began to pace in front of Mac’s desk. “The man’s an opportunist, plain and simple, grabbing his fifteen minutes of fame at the expense of our good image.”

“We had those types last year,” Mac said. “Phoebe’s husband, Cheryl’s mother…”

Wriggens handily ignored him. “This moron is trouble. Professing his undying love for his ‘Laney,’ offering all sorts of juicy details about their life back in Minnesota? I expect her lawyers to call any minute.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“Yeah? He says they were engaged.”

Mac shook his head. “I don’t believe that’s true. I think Lane would have mentioned that. He’s got to be lying.”

“Big surprise. But the trouble is, with Lane gone, he has free reign with her life. He can do and say what he wants.”

“Oh dear.”

“I had a more explosive way of expressing my concern, but yes, ‘oh dear.’ He could cause major damage in a week.”

Mac rocked in his chair, trying to think. “Yet maybe… since it’s so obvious he’s a cretin… no one will believe anything he says. They’ll see him for what he is.”

“And love him for it. Mac, face it. The American dream has evolved into every person having a right to bring others down to their level. He’s a working man, an everyday Joe—below an everyday Joe, if you ask me—but I’m not sure the public will make the distinction. He’s a man who once was in love with a megastar. She rose to high heights and he was left behind. Woe is he.”

That
was
how Toby was playing it: Lane left him behind; he got the shaft.

“And it was all Hollywood’s fault.” Wriggens raised a finger. “Never take the blame for anything, Mac. It’s always someone else’s fault. Personal accountability has become a four-letter word.”

“Playing the blame game
has
become a national pastime.”

“On that we do agree. And I especially like the part where he said he will be making himself available to Lane if she comes back. She went into the past to rekindle their love, and if she comes back, he’s ready, willing, and able to throw himself at her feet. Or in her bed.”

“But she didn’t go back to be with him. She went back to skip the audition.”

“The press doesn’t know that. Toby doesn’t know that.”

Mac didn’t know what to say.

Wriggens stopped pacing. “Fix it, Mac. ASAP.”

“How? The damage is done.”

“Find Toby. Get him to lay low and shut up.”

“I repeat, how?”

Wriggens turned toward the door. “Make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

Where was Don Corleone when he needed him?

Malibu

“What the—?”

Brandy couldn’t believe the throng of reporters that was camped in Lane’s driveway.

Her husband hesitated at the street. “You want me to pull in?

She wasn’t sure. “Why are they here? Lane’s gone for a week. Why are they staking out her house?”

“You’re asking me to explain the workings of the media mind?” He pointed. “They’ve seen us. Do we take the defensive or offensive?”

“What do you think?”

“Well… I’ve always wanted to be offensive.”

“Oh you. Go for it.”

He revved the engine, making her feel as if their car were a bull getting ready to charge. “Here we go!” He pulled into the driveway and the reporters scattered, making room while craning to see who they were.

Randy turned off the car. “Let me get out first and come around to get you.”

“Gladly.”

As soon as he exited, they pummeled him with questions. He said nothing but helped her out, placing her under his protective wing.

“What are you doing here?”

“What relation are you to Lane?”

“Who are you?”

That last question was repeated at least a dozen times. As soon as Randy had the front door unlocked, as soon as Brandy’s means of escape was secure, she turned to the reporters. “Who am I? I’m your worst nightmare if you do anything to harm the property or the reputation of Lane Holloway.”

She closed the door on them, her heart pumping.

Randy clapped. “You didn’t need me.”

“I always need you. And never forget it.”

Randy looked around and she realized it had been awhile since he’d been here. “Which bedroom are we painting?” he asked.

“Hers.” Brandy led the way to the back of the house. “She’s had the paint and supplies for months, but getting a contractor in here who isn’t overly gaga, or one who doesn’t capitalize on the fact they worked on Lane Holloway’s home, is impossible.”

“Who’s saying I won’t capitalize on it? Maybe I want to grab the spotlight like that Toby guy.”

“I never did like Toby. Not really. He may have been slightly cute in 1987, but he was also an annoying little ferret.” In Lane’s bedroom, Brandy moved to open the blinds on the French doors leading to the balcony but, remembering the press, thought better of it. She flipped on all the lamps.

“Not much light to work,” Randy said.

“But enough?”

He shrugged. “Where’s the paint?”

She’d get to that. First, Brandy wrapped her arms around his neck. “Giving up your day for me… have I told you how much I adore you?”

“Not today.” He accepted her kiss and gave her a few extra in return.

Reluctantly, she let go and surveyed the room. “Lane will be so surprised.”

“Only if she comes back. She might not, you know.”

Brandy nodded and got the two cans of Sunshine Yellow paint from the closet. She couldn’t think about that. She couldn’t.