Catherine Coulter - Born To Be Wild

Lou Lou looked thoughtful. “You’re right. He couldn’t count on getting a good photo of Mary Lisa. I wonder why he took such a chance?”

Detective Vasquez said, “I look forward to asking him.”

Mary Lisa snorted. “I hope they break the little weasel’s camera finger.” She glanced at her watch, jumped to her feet. “I’m sorry, Detective Vasquez, but I’ve got to go. Being late is a major crime. Lou Lou, don’t forget, we’re having drinks with Freddie Morgan tonight, at Gumbo’s. Bye, Detective.” And Mary Lisa was off, headed back toward the studio.

Detective Vasquez asked, as he watched her rooster tail flopping, “Who’s Freddie Morgan?”

Lou Lou smiled as she wadded up her paper sack. “He’s a friend of Mary Lisa’s, a hotshot producer who’s got a couple of long-running TV series on-I forgot to tell you about tonight. The thing is, Freddie might want to sign me on to do the makeup for some of his A-list events. That would be big time, big names, it would really put me out there. I’ve got to go.”

“No problem, Lou Lou. I’ll call when I have some news. Tell your friend to be careful. I have this twitching elbow that tells me things.”

“I’ll keep reminding her.”

“Good girl.” He touched his fingers to her nose and smiled.

John Aniston, Jennifer Aniston’s father, played Victor Kiriakis on Days of Our Lives.

Malibu

Late Wednesday afternoon

Today Mary Lisa ignored all the advice. She was alone and on a mission. She looked carefully both ways down PCH before she crossed. There were no dark sedans, no suspicious men in backward baseball caps anywhere on the highway. But even if someone was hidden close by, she hoped he wouldn’t recognize her-she had her big Audrey Hepburn sunglasses firmly in place, and a 49ers cap pressed down on her head, covering her red hair. She was wearing a sloppy XL Colts sweatshirt over ratty jeans and high-top sneakers.

And she didn’t have to worry about Puker Hodges chasing her with his Kodak. Detective Malloy had called her from the Burbank PD to tell her they’d picked him up at his apartment Monday afternoon, not even bothering to hide their grins when he got all irate as they cuffed him, yelling his head off for a lawyer and claiming a violation of his civil rights as a member of the press. He insisted on taking a slice of pizza he was eating with him in one of his handcuffed hands, and ended up dropping it on the sidewalk since the cops wouldn’t unfasten the cuffs so he could eat it. The security guard Frank Hallick said Puker had offered him a piping hot grande nonfat mocha latte, his favorite, and how did the little dork know that? Turned out what was left of the grande was laced with heavy-duty sleeping pills. Detective Malloy of the Burbank PD laughed when he told Mary Lisa not to worry, they had the little loudmouth dead to rights. He said the doping charge was a serious one, and there were others, including Puker’s violating Mary Lisa’s new restraining order. Detective Malloy was pleased-he said Puker might even do some jail time, depending on the plea bargaining.

The only unfortunate thing was that Puker had already sold the photo to the National Enquirer. One of the Born to Be Wild deliveryboys, an enterprising son of a soap writer, had called to warn her. “Wow, Mary Lisa, you made the front page!” And so she was on her mission to buy a copy, see how bad the photo was and what lewd nonsense they’d invented to caption it.

The head of the studio, the savvy, no-nonsense, nail-biting Irene Ludlow, had called Mary Lisa, royally displeased, assuring her that the studio would prosecute Puker to the full extent of the law. This was studio policy now-like not negotiating with terrorists. Puker had already spent a night in jail, and they would use him to send a message, whether or not he and his lawyer screamed in two-part harmony for the ACLU.

She slipped into Big Glow market. There, right at eye level in the checkout line, for all to see, were a dozen copies of the National Enquirer with a big color photo of her, front and center. She stared at the photo and wanted to pull a produce bag over her head. What had possessed her to jump on Bernie, wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, and throw her head back, with that thick fan of hair sticking out the back of her head like a Mohawk? She looked wildly happy, her mouth so wide with laughter you could nearly see her tonsils. They’d cut out all the other people standing around. It was only she and Bernie with his face nearly in her cleavage, her dress rucked up to mid thigh. Since he was so much taller, it looked like they could be having sex, her billowing skirt covering the act.

And the tagline beneath the lovely big color photo: Emmy winner Mary Lisa Beverly and new beau-naughty naughty, Mary Lisa, this Emmy winner is married.

She bought a copy along with, for camouflage, three oranges and a pocket Kleenex, and slunk back outside. She leaned against the glass window and read the article.

They identified Bernie as the head writer for Born to Be Wild , wondered if he was the new man in her life, speculated about what went on in her dressing room if-snicker-this was a sample of what she did in public.

Mary Lisa pulled out her cell and dialed Bernie’s house, heard three rings and a throaty “Hello.”

“Gloria, it’s Mary Lisa. I just bought the National Enquirer. It’s awful, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say. If the boys were still young I’d offer to babysit for a year free.”

To her astonishment, Gloria Barlow howled with laughter. “It’s okay, pet. I’m sure Bernie is preening as we speak. His sons are calling him Mr. Stud, high-fiving him with ‘Way to go, Dad!’ He announced a half hour ago he wanted to go to the club to play golf, but what he really wanted was to be sure none of his buddies missed all this. I had Thad drive him, and got no argument since he wanted his dad to tell him everything. It sounded to me like all of Bernie’s golf buddies will buy him so many free drinks to dish up the dirt, he’ll need Thad to drive him home. Do you know, I think he bought about a dozen copies to hand out? One for his dad too.”

Mary Lisa burst out laughing. “But what about your mom?”

“She just called, told me all her friends want to meet you, said you had to be a mensch to jump Bernie’s bones like that. Everything’s fine, Mary Lisa, stop your worrying. It’s a hoot. Thanks for the offer of babysitting, even if it’s a decade too late.”

When Mary Lisa walked through her front door ten minutes later, her home phone was ringing. She ran to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Shame on you, sleeping with a married man. Maybe next time you won’t be so lucky.” And the whispery voice hung up.

Mary Lisa stood in the center of her living room, staring down at the phone in her hand, listening to the dial tone.

She hadn’t quite closed the door and it burst open and Lou Lou dashed in, panting. “I was talking to Danny when Morrie Bernstein, who owns Big Glow market, called to tell him you’d waltzed into his store alone, and how could the cops let that happen? I came as quickly as I could. Danny said he’d break free soon to come over and smack you upside the head.” She waved the Enquirer around. “These bastards. I say we drop-kick all of them right into a snow-filled crevasse in Patagonia. Mary Lisa? What’s wrong? Look, the photo and article aren’t all that bad, they do lots worse, you know? And it’s really kind of cute and funny-you look happy and Bernie’s grinning like a fool. I don’t think people will believe this crazy caption about you and Bernie. Everyone knows he’s the head writer, and there you are in full makeup. You’ll see, this will blow right over. Mary Lisa?”