California Girls Page 2

  Usually she joked about him touching her. Their friendly banter was a regular part of her “get ready” ritual. But today she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. And in eight minutes, that was going to be a big problem.

  Breathe, she told herself. She would breathe and trust herself to know what she was doing. She’d done this show for nearly four years. She was good at it. She loved her work and she would be fine. If only she didn’t hear the echo of the screams she didn’t dare give in to.

  Gary smoothed her jacket into place, winked at her and smiled. “You’re good to go, Finola.”

  “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Testing, testing.”

  The mike would have already been checked, but she always confirmed it was working.

  Gary gave her a thumbs-up before handing over the earpiece that would connect her with the control room. Theirs wasn’t a news show, so she wasn’t getting breaking information, but she still needed to be linked to the control room in case a major story broke. Then she would be able to smoothly transition her viewers to the fact that New York was going to interrupt the show.

  She adjusted the earpiece then heard the soft voice of Melody, the director. “Finola, good morning. We’re at five minutes. Good show.”

  “Good show,” she said automatically. She turned off her microphone to give herself one moment to be truly alone just as someone touched her on the shoulder.

  She turned and came face-to-face with Treasure. The country-pop star was about Finola’s height, with long, dark red hair worn in cascading ringlets. Her eyes were deep green and even with heavy TV makeup, her skin was amazing.

  Finola blinked in surprise.

  “Hello. I thought you didn’t want to meet before the interview.” She managed a smile and held out a hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Treasure. I’m a big fan.”

  The twenty-three-year-old smiled at her. “No, you’re not,” she said softly. “Or if you are now, you won’t be.”

  She ignored Finola’s outstretched hand. “You’re older than I thought. Thirty-four, right? You couldn’t be my mom, but you wouldn’t be an older sister, either. Maybe an aunt.”

  Finola had no idea what she was talking about. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I need to go out and greet the audience. Everyone is so excited to see you and watch you perform.”

  Before she could turn away, Treasure grabbed her upper arm. Her fingers dug in just enough to be uncomfortable.

  “It’s me,” she whispered, leaning close. “I’m the one he’s sleeping with. I’m the one who’s done things with him you can’t even imagine. It’s not just the sex, you know. It’s all of it.” She rolled her eyes. “He didn’t want to tell you about us, like he could hide me, but I had my manager book me on your show so he didn’t have a choice.”

  Treasure’s smile turned cruel. “And now you know.”

  Finola could only stare at her, even as her mind rejected the words. This isn’t happening, she thought desperately. It can’t be. Nothing the other woman was telling her could be true. Before she could react in any way, Treasure released her and walked away. Finola pressed a hand to her stomach, hoping to slow the bleeding just enough to not die that very moment.

  She had to run, she told herself. She had to get out of here. She had to—

  “Finola?”

  Melody’s voice competed with the very loud buzzing in her head.

  “Finola, you need to get on set now.”

  The show. She had to do the show. It was live, so there was no second chance. She had to walk out there and face the two hundred people in the audience, not to mention the million or so in their homes. AM SoCal was hugely popular. She was well liked in the community and today they had on a massive star. Ratings would be huge.

  “Finola?”

  “I’m here.”

  She drew in a breath and dug as deep as she could for every ounce of professionalism, not to mention self-preservation, she’d managed to accumulate in her life. She had to survive sixty minutes. Just sixty minutes and then she would be able to collapse. Just the next hour. That was all.

  She walked out to face her audience. They immediately burst into applause. She waved and smiled at them, focusing only on the people in the first few rows. Near the center aisle were what looked like three generations—grandmother, daughter and granddaughter, all clapping happily. There were a few of her regulars—those who always came to tapings, but the rest of the audience was filled with teenagers.

  The Treasure fans, she thought grimly. How was she going to survive? She glanced at the teleprompter and breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God.

  Good morning, everyone, and welcome to the show. We have something very special in store for you today, although based on the demographics of my audience, word has already spread—Pause for laughter.

  She stepped into place and waited for the countdown to live. Normally she would have chatted with the audience a little, but not only wasn’t there time, she couldn’t have done it. Not today.

  “Five, four, three.” She watched the fingers indicate the silent “Two, one,” then thought of puppies and kittens playing and how drunk she was going to get later. When the red light on the camera illuminated, she was fairly confident her smile was something close to genuine.

  “Good morning, everyone, and welcome to the show.”

  Finola worked the introduction. She never fully felt like herself, but the shock and pain faded just enough that she could inhale. She consciously relaxed her body and focused on what she had to get through.

  “Here she is, and I’ll confess I’m a little starstruck myself. Treasure!”

  Finola turned to where the singer would enter. Treasure sauntered across the set, her familiar coltish walk and easy smile bringing the audience to their feet. There were plenty of screams and whistles. Treasure waved at everyone, then looked at Finola. For a second something dark and evil seemed to turn her face into a sinister mask, but then it was gone, leaving Finola to wonder if she was imagining things or if, in fact, the superstar was about to discuss her affair on television.

  They sat angled toward each other. Finola was grateful her overly efficient team had loaded questions into the teleprompter. She didn’t have to think, she reminded herself. She simply had to look engaged and ask the prewritten questions.

  “Your new album is doing incredibly well,” she began. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. I’m really happy with the way my fans are responding. Especially to the first single.” She flashed the audience a smile. “‘That Way.’”

  “It’s a provocative song.”

  Treasure leaned toward her and lowered her voice. “It’s about sex.”

  The audience laughed.

  Finola couldn’t tell if she was blushing or if she’d gone totally white. She was light-headed and hoped she wasn’t swaying in her seat. The potential for disaster was massive and if Treasure said anything...

  Treasure sighed. “You know, there are men who just get how to please a woman. The way they touch you and kiss you—it’s magic.”

  There was more laughter. Finola did her best to join in.

  “You’ve always played with unexpected topics in your songs. This album continues that tradition.”

  “I know.” Treasure winked. “I’m not a sweet person. I’m not mean, but when I want to talk about something, or have something, I make it happen. So what was your favorite sexual experience, Finola?”

  The question hit her like a slap. Finola managed to hang on to her composure enough to chuckle and say, “Treasure, I’m old enough to be your aunt. No one wants to hear about that from me. You’re going on tour in a couple of months. What does it take to get ready for a show as big as yours?”

  “I need to be rested and happy. You know what that’s like. To be with the right person. It’s such a good place to be.”

>   Tell us about the man in your life.

  Finola stared at the teleprompter and knew God had moved on to helping someone else. She couldn’t do it, she thought grimly. She couldn’t keep talking, couldn’t keep it together. She was going to fall apart on live television and then the whole world would know everything. She would be a laughingstock, she would be pitied, she would go viral in the worst way possible and at the end of the day, her husband would still have cheated on her with Treasure.

  “All this talk about your album makes me want to hear you sing,” she said, not caring she was two minutes early for the transition.

  “Finola?”

  Melody’s voice was questioning in her ear, but Finola only motioned to the other side of the set where they’d set up a microphone in front of a screen. Treasure’s music video would play behind the singer.

  “Okay,” Melody murmured. “We’ll go early.”

  The spotlight came on and the music cued.

  Treasure hesitated just long enough for Finola’s stomach to cramp. Go, she thought desperately. Just go sing your damn song and get out of here.

  Treasure stood and walked toward the microphone. Finola knew she had four minutes for the song, then two minutes more for the commercial break. Six minutes to figure out how on earth she was going to get through the rest of the show.

  She waited until Treasure started to sing before standing up and quietly slipping off the set. Rochelle met her in the corridor.

  “Are you all right?” her assistant asked, looking worried.

  Finola pressed both hands to her cheeks, trying to physically hold herself together.

  “I think I have food poisoning,” she lied. “My stomach is writhing.” It was the only explanation she could think of and had the added benefit of explaining why she was off.

  “Is that what’s going on?” Melody asked in her ear. “I wondered. Honey, I’m so sorry. Can we get you anything?”

  “Just some cold water,” she said. “I’ll hang on through the show and then I’ll be fine.”

  Another lie. The bigger of the two but at this point, honestly, who cared?

  Rochelle looked sympathetic. “I’ll go get it right now. And some ginger ale. I think we have it in one of the vending machines. Let me check. I hope you feel better soon. You and Nigel are flying to Hawaii tomorrow. You wouldn’t want to miss your flight.”

  Finola lowered her hands to her sides without saying anything. Fortunately Rochelle didn’t seem to expect her to answer. Instead she hurried off to get ice water and ginger ale. Not that either would help, Finola thought, doing her best not to give in to tears. Nothing could help. Nigel had cheated and destroyed their marriage and possibly their lives.

  She pressed her hands against her stomach as acid churned and she fought against the need to vomit. While that would make the food poisoning fib more believable, she would prefer to avoid it as long as possible. She had—she glanced at the countdown clock—forty-three minutes left. Just forty-three minutes. Then she would be alone and have the time to figure out when, exactly, she’d lost everything.

  Chapter Two

  Oh good, you’re still here, were not words Zennie Schmitt wanted to hear eight minutes before the end of her shift. She’d been on her feet for ten hours already. The relatively light day had included two angioplasties that had gone surprisingly well, considering the age and physical condition of the patients. She’d been on her way to the locker room to grab her things when she’d heard herself being paged over the intercom.

  Dr. Chen had expressed his relief that she was still in the hospital. “I have an emergency bypass surgery. Are you up for it?”

  Zennie understood the question. She’d already put in a full day. She was tired and if she didn’t think she had the stamina to assist Dr. Chen through a coronary artery bypass operation, then she was expected to tell him. She was more than a perioperative nurse—aka scrub nurse—she was part of an elite nursing team that worked in one of the country’s most prestigious and busy cardiac care hospitals. They saw some of the sickest patients in the world and when someone was on their table, it was often a life-or-death situation. Giving less than 1000 percent wasn’t permissible.

  Zennie took a second to close her eyes and breathe. Yes, she was tired, but not exhausted. With luck they would only have to replace one artery, but odds were more were involved, stretching a three-to-four-hour surgery into something much longer. Still, she and Dr. Chen worked well together and she enjoyed being a team player.

  “I’ll swing by the café, then be right there,” she said.

  “Excellent.”

  Dr. Chen hung up without saying anything like Hey, that’s great or the somewhat expected but rarely heard thank you. He was a gifted, brilliant surgeon who practically worked magic, reviving hearts others thought past saving, but when it came to his people skills...not so much with the glibness. As Zennie hurried to the café, she wondered if they’d ever had a single conversation that wasn’t about a patient.

  She bypassed the coffee and went straight to the espresso machine. She knew exactly how long a double shot would take to ramp up her alertness. She would crash toward the end of surgery, but by then adrenaline would be pumping, so she would be fine. Tomorrow she would be extra nurturing with her diet to make up for the abuse her body would take in the night.

  Eight hours and forty minutes, not to mention one double bypass later, Zennie finally made it to her car. She was beyond tired and she ached all over. The bright lights of the parking garage were at odds with the quiet and darkness beyond. It was well after midnight, and the good news was she wouldn’t have to worry about traffic on the drive home. In fact the normally twenty-five-minute trip took all of twelve minutes. She stumbled into her bedroom just after one.

  She stripped off her scrubs, then washed her face and brushed her teeth. Before sinking into the welcome softness of her bed, she grabbed her phone and checked for messages.

  She had a reminder for her 5:00 a.m. running date. No way that was happening, she thought with a yawn. Not that anyone would be surprised. She was always a firm maybe on Fridays, but a for-sure yes on the weekend, barring her being on call. She also had a ten-thirty appointment with her baby sister, Ali, to get fitted for her bridesmaid dress.

  Zennie did her best not to groan as she thought about the upcoming nuptials. Not that she didn’t love her sister, but weddings were a pain and to be honest, Zennie wasn’t a huge Glen fan. He just didn’t seem to ever look at Ali with undisguised love and affection. Nigel, her sister Finola’s husband, was totally different. When he looked at his wife, you could feel the heat.

  Speaking of heat... Zennie shoved her heating pad under her back. Her muscles were tight from hours spent in surgery.

  There was a text from her dad showing his sailboat anchored in a gorgeous Caribbean bay. Wish you were here.

  She smiled. Wish I was there, too. Miss you, Dad.

  She knew she wouldn’t hear from him for a few hours. Between the time difference and her father and stepmother living on “island time,” texts could take a while to be answered. Still, the thought of a couple of weeks on a sailboat somewhere like the picture was nice.

  Her last text was from her mother. Zennie held in a laugh at her mom’s offer to set her up on a blind date with “a handsome young man that you will absolutely adore,” before ending the text with, I’m not getting any younger and I expect grandchildren before I die.

  Zennie was still chuckling when she fell asleep.

  * * *

  Morning came early, despite the lack of an alarm. Zennie showered, drank a protein-packed smoothie, then did about a half hour of stretching before heading off to meet Ali.

  The bridal shop in Sherman Oaks was by appointment only and very elegant. Zennie thought maybe wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt had been a mistake, then told herself it didn’t matter. She would be undressi
ng anyway.

  Ali was already there, practically dancing with excitement as Zennie entered the store.

  “Hi. The dresses are here and they’re so beautiful. You’re going to look great. Probably better than me. Finola will, for sure. It’s hard having beautiful sisters.”

  Zennie hugged her. “You’re going to be the bride. The bride is always the prettiest one.”

  Ali rolled her eyes, even as she grinned. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll see. I tried on my dress last week. It’s good I didn’t get the smaller size. I seem to be the only bride in history who didn’t bother sticking to her diet.”

  Zennie didn’t know what to say to that. When Ali had first gotten engaged, she’d come to Zennie and asked for a diet and exercise program. Zennie had done her best, but Ali had never been one for either. She’d carried an extra twenty pounds since puberty and claimed spending a day working in a warehouse was enough exercise for anyone. Zennie had tried to point out that being on her feet wasn’t the same as exercise, but Ali would never be a believer. Still, she had a wholesome, girl-next-door kind of beauty, with brown hair and brown eyes. She was the shortest of the sisters, and the curviest. Finola was the tall blonde beauty who kept herself TV-thin by eating sparingly and avoiding carbs. Zennie had tried to convince her of the importance of variety in her diet, but Finola had refused to listen.

  “Ready to see your dress?” Ali asked. “Finola had her fitting with me last week.”

  “I’m excited,” Zennie lied, then chided herself for not being more with the program. The wedding was a big deal—she should be happy and a willing participant.

  It was just the whole getting married thing, she thought as Ali led the way into the dressing room. No, she amended. It was more than that. It was the two-by-two expectation. She’d grown up with the assumption that when she was an adult, she would pair up, just like the animals on Noah’s Ark. Falling in love followed by marriage followed by family. Only it hadn’t happened and to be perfectly honest, she wasn’t sure she wanted it to.