“So we could be on the news?” Vera said.
“They’re taping a bunch of short segments, so it’s not a guarantee,” Angie said. “But either way, they need your approval, just in case.”
“Okay,” I said, taking the one-page document from her and scrawling my name on the bottom line. “No problem.”
“This is so exciting,” Vera gushed, and signed her copy with a flourish. She handed it back to Angie, who slid both pages back onto her clipboard.
A young production assistant jogged across the set and slowed down as she approached the host. With a nervous gulp, she said, “Randolph, you have a flower delivery. They put it in your dressing room.”
“Thanks, kiddo,” he said, flashing her a million-dollar grin. “Hey, Angie, be back in two minutes.”
He strolled away before Angie could protest. Exasperated, she turned to me. “Stand by, will you, Brooklyn?”
“No problem,” I said, not minding the wait. I was having too much fun to complain about anything.
Vera flashed me a wide-eyed look. “Can I ask you a few more questions about the book?”
Before I could answer, Angie shook her head. “Sorry to interrupt, kids, but the second Randy returns, I’ve got to get that damn chat done and then clear this area. They’ll start taping the next segment right after that, so maybe you two can set up a meeting later.”
“Oh, sure.” Vera stood and I got a look at her shoes for the first time. Patent-leather leopard-skin stiletto heels. Wow. They had to be six inches tall and the pattern should’ve clashed with her zebra-print dress, but somehow it all worked for her.
“Hey, dig those shoes,” Angie said.
“Don’t you love them?” Vera said, beaming. “They’re my Christian Louboutin knockoffs.”
Angie nodded. “They’re freaking awesome.”
Vera turned and bent her knee, lifting her foot behind her. “They’ve even got the signature red sole. See?”
Angie and I stared at the shiny red bottom.
“They rock,” Angie said.
Vera gazed down at her sexy stilettos. “They were the first thing I bought myself after I left my no-good boyfriend.”
“Best revenge, sister,” Angie said stoutly.
“You know it,” Vera said, and giggled.
I handed Vera the business card I’d pulled out of my pocket. “I’ll be happy to talk with you about the book anytime you want. Or you can call me whenever you decide what to do.”
She looked at the card. “Okay, good. The sooner, the better.”
“Anytime,” I said.
Looking relieved, she said, “Thanks, Brooklyn.”
“And don’t forget your book, hon,” Angie said, extending The Secret Garden to her.
Vera stared blankly at Angie until she saw the book in her hand. “Oh, wow. I guess I’m still a little discombobulated. Thank you.”
Angie pointed out the exit to Vera, and we watched her walk away, a bit wobbly in her sky-high heels.
I sniffed, feeling sentimental. Vera was, after all, a first for me.
“She’s adorable.” Angie grinned. “And you made her day.”
“I loved every minute of it,” I said, happy that so far my day was going pretty well, too.
But the same couldn’t be said for Randolph. The star of the show crossed the wide stage and headed straight for Angie and me, his face drained of color and his jaw taut. He looked as if he might have just witnessed his own death.
Chapter Two
Ten minutes later, the director was ready to shoot our segment. I’d been watching Randolph carefully as he slowly shook off his mood and returned to his peppy, perky self. He was deeply involved in a conversation with Tom and Walter when Angie grabbed him and dragged him over to my table.
“Sit. Stay,” she said, pushing him into the chair across from me.
He looked in much better spirits now than he had a few minutes ago and he took Angie’s wrangling with good humor. I wondered if maybe he had a soft spot for her, too. Who could blame him? She looked like a pre-Raphaelite angel with lustrous black curls instead of the usual red.
I was nosy enough to wonder what had caused Randolph’s look of despair earlier, but it wasn’t the right time to ask. Something about that flower delivery had caused him to turn a deathly shade of white. I’d been itching to eavesdrop on his discussion with the producers, but I wasn’t brave or stupid enough to do it. Not with so many witnesses standing around, anyway.
Whatever had upset him, he seemed to have brushed it aside and was in a good mood for our short teaser segment. The camera rolled and the two of us chatted for all of one minute. And then it was over.
“That was easier than I thought it would be,” I confessed.
“It’s my cheery inquisitiveness,” Randolph said blithely. “Admit it: I make you feel both desirable and comfortable.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You really are a rascal.”
“Rascal.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I like that.”