Love Tango. J.M. Jeffries
sigh. “They were waiting in the parking lot after rehearsal. And I think things could have gotten incredibly nasty.” The kind of nasty that could end up in the gossip rags. True or not, the information crippled anyone involved.
Mike rubbed his temple. “I’m glad Roxanne is not contractually obligated to them in any way. That could just be ugly.”
“They’re her family,” Nick said. His own family was so different. They supported each other.
“Family means nothing in this town. It’s what’s written down on paper that counts.”
Nick shook his head. “I still think they are going to be a problem.”
“I don’t think much is going to stop them from being a problem,” Nancy added.
“You’ve been friends with Roxanne for several years now. What does she say about her parents?”
“Nothing,” Nancy replied. “She never talks about them and I don’t ask.”
“Roxanne is a nice woman and I like her.” He liked her a lot. “Her parents might prove a big enough distraction to keep her from doing her best.” Roxanne had an honesty about her that appealed to him. She had no illusions about who she was.
Nancy frowned. “Roxanne is too classy to get dragged into a tawdry controversy with her parents. And I don’t want to see her hurt.”
Mike looked thoughtful. “Controversy can be great publicity, but it’s not something I want for my show. I don’t want this season to be overshadowed by a mudslinging war between Roxanne and her parents. It’s unfair to the other contestants who are actually trying to revive their careers. Plus it creates all kinds of tension on the set.”
“Do you honestly think that will happen?” Nick asked, although he knew the answer.
“You know how the paparazzi and gossip rags love that kind of stuff,” Mike replied.
* * *
Roxanne pulled into her driveway to find Portia’s car parked on the street.
“What are you doing here?” Roxanne asked after walking into her home.
Portia stood in the kitchen making a chicken-salad sandwich. She wore her zoo uniform with the faint hint of hay clinging to her. She held a knife and waved it through the air. “Mom and Dad sent me.”
Roxanne stopped and stared at her sister. “Speak of the devils, I just ran into them. They were waiting for me outside the rehearsal studio.”
Portia patted the top piece of bread into place, cut it and took a bite. She chewed her food for a half minute, swallowed and took a sip of iced tea. “Well, they want to bury the hatchet, extend an olive branch, so to speak. Whatever they can do to bring you back into the fold. I’m supposed to be their ambassador.”
Roxanne opened the refrigerator and grabbed a soda. “Why?”
“They’re bleeding clients like mad. Mom and Dad are giving them all the runaround while they’re trying to sort out their finances. Having the IRS hanging over them every second is messing with their ability to run their business, and even though none of the clients know the details of their tax troubles, Mom and Dad’s erratic behavior about the whole situation is not breeding confidence in their ability to handle their clients’ affairs because they can’t seem to handle their own. And this script they want you to read, they own the rights and it’s actually pretty good.”
“So why don’t they get another actress—a bigger actress? Tons of actresses would kill for a great starring role.” Even as the words left her mouth, Roxanne knew the answer.
Portia gave her an exasperated look. “Public relations. Image rebuilding. Think about it. They have a great script. And with the prodigal daughter partnering with them on it—you know how far that would go to rebuild their image. If you trust them, others would, too.”
Roxanne knew. The industry was full of sheep. Where one went, often more followed.
Portia sat at the table across from Roxanne. “I just spent the morning brainstorming with them and their plan of attack is to bring you back into the warm embrace of our harmonious family and take advantage of your new fame on Celebrity Dance. If they can get you back for this film and show that you have every confidence in them, they would be able to rebuild their client base.”
“Ow,” Roxanne said. “Whose idea was that?”
“Tristan’s.”
“Oh, baby brother.”
“He desperately wants to be on Broadway, especially since his character is being written out of that medical drama he’s on, and the lead in the revival of Timbuktu is coming up for audition. Even I know he’s perfect for the role.”
Roxanne said in a jaundiced tone, “He’s going to have to give up drinking, partying and chasing women. That type of behavior is only excused when you reach the top.”
Portia nodded as she bit into her sandwich and gave a little sigh. She ate in silence for a few minutes. “Mom and Dad are frantic.”
“They’re seeing their little empire crumble around them.”
Roxanne didn’t want to be drawn back into her parents’ domain. Until she’d turned sixteen, she’d been under their controlling thumb and spent a lot of days resenting them.
The garage door opened and their grandmother walked into the kitchen carrying a load of grocery bags. “Hello, girls.”
Portia jumped up to kiss Donna Deveraux on the cheek. Like Portia, Donna was small and compact with gray hair cut tight to her head and expressive brown eyes. Her voice still held a hint of Southern cadence from her Mississippi childhood. Her eyes lit up at the sight of her granddaughters.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you, Portia. Are you staying for dinner?” Donna asked as she set grocery bags on the counter.
“Sure.” Portia said. “I was hoping we could have a slumber party tonight.”
Roxanne kissed her grandmother on the cheek and set about unpacking the groceries and putting them away.
“We can do that,” Donna said.
If not for her grandmother, Roxanne might have gone insane as a child. Donna had cared for her, homeschooled her, acted as guardian when Roxanne was on the set and generally kept her grounded in the real world. Donna had always been around when Roxanne needed her and once she’d graduated college and bought this house, she’d moved her grandmother in with her. She’d set up a modest trust fund that generously supplemented her grandmother’s social security because somewhere down through the years, her parents had forgotten to pay her for her services. When Roxanne had found out, she’d been livid.
“Grams,” Roxanne said, “What are you cooking tonight?”
Donna grinned at her granddaughters. “Chicken and dumplings, child.” She reached into one of the plastic bags. “And a bottle of your favorite pinot grigio.”
“Maybe not,” Portia said. “I’m being considered as the lead in a series of commercials for some car ads.”
Roxanne countered, hating to see her sister deprive herself. The industry was merciless on women who weren’t a size two. “One decadent meal isn’t going to kill your figure.”
Portia looked thoughtful. “I can always spend a little more time working out tomorrow.”
Roxanne took the wine bottle and put it in the refrigerator to chill.
“Are we celebrating something?” Portia asked.
“I just felt like doing something special.” Donna opened a cabinet and pulled out a large pan. “How did your first rehearsal go?”
“My feet hurt,” Roxanne said. “I want to soak my abused toes and everything else in between that and my