Behind the Scenes Page 6

  Was she afraid of looking foolish? Afraid the camera wouldn’t do her justice? She didn’t seem like a vain person, seeing as she had refused before now to look at any of the tape, but maybe she was just afraid of not translating well. That, he could fix.

  “Can I show you something?” he asked her.

  Her eyes cleared a little. “What?”

  “I want you to see the look I’m going for here.”

  Now not only were her eyes clear, they were narrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “I want to show you something, so you know what I expect of you.”

  “What you ex . . . expect?” she sputtered. “If you think—”

  “I’m the mean boss and you’re my lowly slave. You do what I say,” he said.

  Without giving her a chance to knock him upside the head, he turned back to the set. “Denny? Tell everyone to take thirty.”

  “Thirty?” Denny said.

  “Yes.”

  And before Tanya Pierce could scream, he grabbed her hand and kidnapped her.

  AJ IGNORED TANYA’S incessant questions and squeals as he stuffed her into his golf cart and tooled to the Green Building, where his office was located.

  He dragged her past a gaping Mrs. Peterson, slammed the door closed, then set her down, none too gently, in one of his guest chairs. Then he hitched one leg on the edge of his desk and faced her.

  “I want to show you something,” he said, when she finally stopped sputtering.

  “What?”

  “First, let me ask you something. And I want an honest answer.”

  She hesitated, then sat back and crossed her legs. She was wearing casual cotton khakis and a white Oxford shirt. She looked professional, if a bit boring. But he’d figured he’d ease into the on-air attire after she’d had enough time to feel safe in her usual work clothes, which he loved. For now this would do. Against the backdrop of the pink-and-mint-green-striped wallpaper of her work station, she looked casually elegant somehow. Comfortable, but professional. Demure, but sexy as hell.

  Finally she said, “I’ll try.”

  AJ nodded. “What are you really afraid of, Tanya?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What frightens you so much about the cameras?”

  She chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “The hundreds of people who will be on the other side of it,” she said finally.

  AJ nearly choked. If their audience numbered in the hundreds, she wouldn’t have to worry for long. He decided not to mention she’d have a much larger audience than that. “Okay. Why?”

  “I . . . don’ t know.”

  “Are you afraid of looking foolish?”

  “I guess.”

  “Okay. Do you doubt your skill?”

  “Not normally.”

  “But this isn’t normal?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  He nodded. “Stupid question. Of course it’s not. Okay, not doing your usual best. My guess is you’d do an incredible job in your sleep, but I understand that. You don’t want to disappoint your client because you’re nervous.”

  She stared at him. “That’s true,” she whispered.

  AJ nodded again. “Nobody does. And certainly not in front of an audience, right?”

  “That does tend to make it a little worse, yes,” she said dryly.

  Okay, she was coming out of nerve shock and starting to find her spirit. That was good. “And then there’s the fact that you’re not all that appealing to look at, so who’d want to gaze at your mug for a full hour?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Are you calling me ugly?”

  He studied his cuticles casually. “If you were ugly, you wouldn’t be here. But you’re worried you’re not pretty enough for TV.”

  “I know I’m not. But so what? The focus isn’t on me.”

  “Oh, yes, in part it sure will be.”

  She stood abruptly. “Flunk Psych 101, did we?”

  “Sit.” When she stood stubbornly, he sighed and added, “Please?”

  She sat, but crossed her legs and arms. “So I’m not pretty.”

  “I didn’t say that. I said you don’t think you’re pretty enough. Or glamorous enough. Or sexy enough. Or whatever that small-town brain of yours thinks it takes to be in front of a camera.”

  “Small town?” she growled.

  Jeez, she was touchy when she was scared. At least it kind of took her mind off being scared, he guessed. Except it pretty much took her mind straight to what a jerk she thought he was. “I meant non-Hollywood. You know . . . real world.”

  “Oh.”

  Okay, no missiles were going to come flying at him. Victory.

  “Now,” he said, “can I show you something? Just for something to think about.”

  “Okay.”

  He went around his desk and pulled open a drawer, grabbing his small video camera. He fiddled with it for a second, then held it up and focused her square in the frame, and hit the record button.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, frowning.

  “Playing.”

  “Well, cut it out.”

  “No. Tell me why you got into hair styling.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m interested. So tell me.”

  “What if I don’t want—?”

  “I’m your boss. You work for me. If you don’t do it, I not only won’t fire you, I’ll actually schedule you to make tons of personal appearances, cutting ribbons and christening boats and all.”

  She looked cute appalled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Wanna try me?”

  “You’re . . . you’re . . . mean.”

  “I know. It’s a fault that goes way back. So go on. Tell me. Why do you like fixing other people’s hair?”

  “I don’t know. I just always have.”

  “Since when?”

  “Oh, jeez. I was doing my dolls’ hair from as early as I can remember.”

  “To make them look dumb?”

  “Of course not. To make them look pretty. Of course, in my younger years I wasn’t always successful.” She grinned. “A word of advice: perming a doll’s hair is not a good idea.”

  That smile could get a mime to babble. But AJ kept his own mouth shut because he didn’t want to stop the flow. “Is that why you do it now? To help make people look pretty?”

  She tapped her lips with her forefinger. “I’m not a miracle worker. I can’t make people look pretty. But I can make them feel it, you know?”

  He was feeling it all right, but he wouldn’t say it was anything in the vicinity of pretty. He couldn’t take much more of this, so he hit the stop button and lowered the camera. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “Of course not. But it was just you.”

  “And on the set it’s just going to be the camera and the man behind it.”

  “And fifty other people running around like chickens.”

  AJ shrugged. “You’ve gotten to know them. They all like you. They think you’ve got the stuff. What’s the difference between them and the people who sit in your shop while you’re working on other customers?”

  When she hesitated, he added, “Every single person working on that show, on that set, is rooting for you to succeed. They love you. They are lined up around the set waiting their turns for you to do their own hair. They’re your cheering section, Tanya, not your critics.”

  “I know.”

  “Good. Then in the studio, do your thing for the customer and the enjoyment of all the people standing there marveling at your talent. Forget the camera. There’s no one behind it but the technician working it. And he’s not concentrating on your per
fection, he’s concentrating on his job, because he’d really like to keep it.”

  “Okay. You’ve made your point. But, that’s not all of it. I think I can get through the taping.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.”

  She looked up at him, and her eyes got suspiciously shiny. “No. It’s not all you’re asking.”

  AJ set the camera down on his desk. “Is that right? What else am I asking?”

  “You’re asking for me to make lots of people—strangers—want to watch me.”

  He started to laugh, but cut it short when he saw the earnestness in her face. “That’s the idea, yes.”

  “I don’t think I can deliver.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mr. Landry—”

  “I’m pretty certain we’ve graduated to AJ.”

  She nodded. “AJ, look at me,” she said, standing and holding out her arms. “I’m not glamorous. I’m not an actress. I don’t have—or even know how to fake having—that certain something people on TV are supposed to possess.”

  “What certain something is that?”

  Her arms dropped. “Don’t play dumb; you’re not good at it. You know what I’m talking about. That Hollywood sparkle or glitter or glamour or whatever you call it that makes people want to watch other people on TV.”

  AJ waved Tanya back into her chair, then pulled the other guest chair from the corner and dragged it beside hers. He turned them both with their backs to his desk and toward his TV/DVD/VCR set-up. “Okay, we both know I didn’t choose you to head this show. That’s true. So describe to me who you think I would have considered the ideal candidate. And why.”

  Before she could open her mouth his phone buzzed. “Denny Block, AJ,” Mrs. Peterson said.

  AJ picked up the phone. “Send the crew to lunch,” he said without preamble.

  “Are you crazy? It’s ten o’clock, and we haven’t even started!”

  “We can start now and stop over and over and over again and be here until midnight, or we can begin on the right foot when we’re ready to begin, and get out of here before we all turn back into pumpkins.”

  “Lunch!” Denny barked, then “How long?”

  “An hour.”

  “Sixty minutes, people,” Denny said, while he was hanging up.

  “I’m holding everything up,” Tanya said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

  “My fault. We should have had this discussion long before today.” Without turning around, he reached over his shoulder and grabbed the remote from his desk. “Go ahead, tell me who the star of Pretty Women would be if I had chosen her.”

  “You mean a name?”

  “No. Describe her.”

  Tanya threw back her head and stared at the ceiling of his office. That gave him time to appreciate the slender line of her neck and, further up, her profile. Sketched, it would make the perfect cameo. Her cheekbones were classic, below long, velvet lashes that framed wide, warm eyes.

  She was wearing make-up because she understood she couldn’t look washed out on tape. But it wasn’t caked on to hide flaws. Just enough to give color and definition to a bone structure that could make a sculptor weep.

  “Well, of course she’d be drop-dead gorgeous,” Tanya said, yanking him back from his ode to Tanya’s assets. At least a few of many.

  “She’d have to be appealing, yes. But that means different things to different people. What do you think I’m looking for?”

  Her gaze toppled from the ceiling over to him. “Glamour. Sparkle. Star quality whatever, pray tell, that is.”

  “Okay. You don’t know me well enough for that to be insulting, and you know just enough that that’s a pretty good guess. Talent at styling hair aside, name me someone in Hollywood you think would fit the bill.”

  She thought about it for a long time before saying, “I don’t know too many. But what about that actress . . . I forget her name. The one that was in the show Fancy’s Dare. Heather something?”

  AJ kept his expression as impassive as he knew how even as he cringed all the way down to his marrow. Of all the actresses in all of Hollywood, she had to pick his ex-wife. He’d almost think she’d chosen Heather just to get a reaction out of him, but he could see by the look on her face that she was too busy trying to get an A on this exam to be playing games.

  Besides, he and Heather had never advertised their marriage. Heather hadn’t thought her career would benefit if she were known to be tied down.

  He couldn’t even imagine Heather in the part of a hairstylist. It wouldn’t be glamorous enough for her. The wardrobe would kill her. And the last thing she’d want to do was make someone look good enough that they grabbed even a speck of the spotlight away from her. “I know who you’re talking about,” he said. “Not even close.”

  “You don’t think she’s pretty?”

  “Yes, she’s pretty,” he said. That was if you didn’t make the mistake of scratching the surface. Unfortunately he’d made the mistake of not scratching the surface soon enough. “But definitely not my vision for the show.”

  “So you don’t want someone pretty,” she said.

  He would have protested, but the grin on her face told him he didn’t need to. She was teasing him. This was definite progress in the relationship that heretofore was sort of on a confrontational plane. “Well, I would have, but then Frank dumped you in my lap.”

  Her mouth popped open, but then she laughed and patted his arm. “Stuck with a hag.”

  “I’ll make do.” He looked down at the remote in his hand. “Now do you want to see the woman I think would have been perfect in the show?”

  She swallowed. “Okay.”

  AJ hit the play button. He’d watched this tape more times than he could count. And if he were to be honest, it wasn’t just to fine-tune the set-up or take notes on how she worked so segments could be paced and blocked.

  None of the usual opening editing information was there, because they’d run the tape as surreptitiously as possible that day. “This is the perfect woman for this show,” he said.

  A moment later the image came up on his forty-five-inch screen.

  After a couple of seconds, Tanya softly stated, “That’s me.”

  “That’s you.”

  Chapter Six

  “THIS IS A TRICK, right?” Tanya said, shielding her eyes from the screen. “A sick, mean trick.”

  AJ grabbed her wrist and forced it down to the arm of her chair. “No trick. Watch this woman. Maybe you can learn something.”

  “I’ve been thinking AJ probably stood for Arrogant Jerk but it’s probably more like Awful Joker.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Tanya pressed a fist to her lips to stifle a groan. Or any more embarrassing observations. She really had to train her brain to leave her mouth out of it. “Just talking to myself,” she mumbled, hoping he’d drop it.

  “Well, pay attention.”

  Nope. Arrogant Jerk still fit better.

  She glanced over at him to make certain she hadn’t said that aloud, but even if she had, he wasn’t listening.

  Too bad about the arrogant jerk part because he was really sexy. He was classically handsome, the way Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise were classically handsome. She had always preferred interestingly attractive, the way men like Harrison Ford and Alan Rickman looked. But there was no denying the visual appeal of a man like AJ.

  Finally, without even turning toward her, he reached out a hand and gently steered her chin back in the direction of the screen. “In case I didn’t make myself clear, I meant pay attention to that, and stop looking at me like I’m a worm you’ve just dissected.”

  “Oh, great,” Tanya said, to cover up for the fact she was embarrassed as hell that her face and body were being broadcast at them in living color and practical
ly monstrous size. “You needed to give me that visual, did you? Now I’m thinking about worms and blood. How am I supposed to concentrate when—?”

  “Tanya?”

  “—I’m thinking about—”

  “Tanya.”

  “—worms. Yes?”

  “I mean this in the nicest way. Clam up.”

  “Gotcha.”

  She tried to concentrate on herself; she really did. She tilted her head left and right in a vain attempt to appear as if she were studying the picture artistically. But she had really good peripheral vision, and looking at him was a whole lot more interesting than looking at her.

  Suddenly he pointed the remote and clicked. Both Tanyas froze. The one on the screen had her head thrown back in laughter. The one beside AJ sported a deer-in-the-headlights look, she had the feeling.

  “See her?” AJ said softly. “She’s it.”

  Tanya stared, but didn’t see anything but her mug, laughing. “Okay,” she drawled. “Am I to guess why?”

  He glanced over at the living, breathing Tanya and scowled. “If you can’t see it, you’re either blind or . . . aura-challenged.”

  Tanya knew an insult when she heard it couched in nonsense. “I am neither blind, nor challenged, aura or otherwise. All I see is me. If I remember correctly,” she said, pointing at the screen, “Leslie was telling me about some guy named Walter Blonski who she was hoping wouldn’t show up at her class reunion. And if he did show up, that he’d outgrown his habit of using his shirt to wipe his nose. I was telling her my high school had one just like him. Harvey Figbottom. Only Harvey was known for the way he—”

  “Tanya,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t hear him.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m doing the commentary. You just watch, okay?”

  Well, that was a whole lot more polite than a plain “clam up,” but it pretty much meant the same thing. Tanya clammed up.

  AJ pointed with the remote. “Now look, really look, at the woman on the screen.”

  “I’m looking. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to be seeing. I’m sorry.”