“I can imagine. After your dreadful experience, which of course we’ll re-create so you can show the audience how you survived—”
He sat bolt upright, and Alan’s watery blue eyes, magnified behind the glasses he affected to make him look older than his twenty-six years, widened. “That’s just it, Alan. I didn’t survive. I mean, I did, but only because a mermaid helped me.”
“A”—Alan goggled—“a real live mermaid? One of those Undersea Folk they’re talking about on CNN?”
“Yeah. Her name was Ree and she saved my life about nine times. Towed me to that island where you found me. Telepathically called for help and this guy named Jertan came to the rescue, which is how you heard where I was. She did everything for me. And I—I just left her there.” He buried his face in his hands. “I left her.”
Alan’s hand was on his shoulder. “It sounds like you two got kind of close.”
“I sort of fell in love with her,” he said hollowly, “when she bit the hammerhead.”
“When she did what? Never mind. Let’s find her!”
“Find her?” Alan’s enthusiasm could be exhausting. “She’s long gone. She lives all over the world, all by herself. And the ocean’s a big damn place.”
“We’ll use the show,” Alan said excitedly, actually jumping from one foot to the other. His blond hair fell into his eyes and he shook it back. “Every show, you’ll open by talking about—Ree, was it?—by talking about her and asking people to help you find her. Cripes, the guy she called for help—maybe he watches the show!”
“He did know who I was,” Con said thoughtfully. “I didn’t even get a chance to introduce myself.”
“There you go!”
Con felt cautious optimism. “It’s worth a shot.”
“Great! I’ll go tell the writers to redo the opening.”
“Oh, they’ll love that.”
“They will obey or be killed,” Alan said cheerfully, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “You watch. This will work.”
Chapter 18
This is Con ‘Bad Baby’ Conlinson and yup, I’m back. I’m just like you . . . only I’m on TV. I’ve gotten really close to the summit of Everest, spent the night in the Everglades (Motel™), faced down numerous angry dogs and cats, gotten thrown out of no less than seven—seven—bars, surfed the insanity of Lake Ontario, stayed dry in Seattle, and been audited twice.
“And now I’m back after being shipwrecked for a couple of weeks, and I’ll show you how to survive like I did. But first, I need you to bear with me ’cuz I’ve got some personal business to clear up.
“I want to tell Ree that I love her and I’m sorry I left and I want to marry her if she’ll only agree to live with me. We’ll vacation all over the world, you can come on the show if you want, or not, and wherever we go we’ll make sure there’s salt water nearby.
“Y’see, folks, I didn’t survive on my own at all. A beautiful mermaid named Ree helped me. She saved my life. She fought off a hammerhead shark for me, and made me eat raw fish so I wouldn’t die like a dog in that rotten rowboat. I owe her my life, and I was stupid to leave her when I got rescued. She’s the real survival expert, and I’m really hoping she’ll agree to forgive me for leaving and come on the show and show y’all how to get along in the middle of the ocean.
“So, if anyone out there watching knows Ree—her real name’s Reanesta and she has silver hair, silver eyes, and a silver tail—could you please tell her to get in touch with me? We’ll run my contact information in a constant stream, as you can see, on the bottom of your screen. And Jertan, if you’re watching, I’ll be your slave forever if you get word to Ree that I miss her and I need her.
“Well, thanks, folks, for putting up with that. Now let’s get to the season opener of Con Con the Survivin’ Man.”
Chapter 19
After the show had been airing for two weeks, Con decided Ree wasn’t coming. Well, that was her prerogative, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have it coming, leaving her like that for his stupid career. He got the shakes every time he thought of how stupid he’d been, how he’d thrown happiness away with both hands and never even looked back. Stupid Con! Ree had been right all along.
“Con?”
But he was going to keep up the appeals, and if the crew had a betting pool he was pretending not to notice, and if his producer was starting to think it was time for a new angle, he didn’t give a shit.
“Con?”
“No autographs right now, hon,” he said, walking by whoever-it-was. No, he couldn’t worry about fans right now, his heart was breaking and he was—
“Stupid Con!”
He whirled on his heels and—there was Ree!
“You’re wearing clothes,” he gasped. “No wonder I didn’t recognize you.”
“Well, I could hardly come to your set in my usual manner,” she said. “May I have some water? I’m dreadfully thirsty.”
“You—water? Water! Right!” He seized her hand, thinking that he preferred her nude, although she looked nice in her jeans, sandals, and dark blue T-shirt. Her silver hair was pinned up; he preferred it down. Cripes, he’d been aching for her for weeks and had walked right by her. He wondered briefly where she got the clothes, then dragged her to his trailer.
Once inside he seized her and kissed her until they were both gasping. Then he fished around in the fridge and handed her two bottles of water, which she glugged in twenty seconds.
“Oh, thank you. Much better. Also, I am carrying your pup.”
“My—you’re pregnant?”
“Yes. And I thought you said lovely things about me on your show. And you must be Jertan’s slave, because he told me you were looking for me. How he found me off the coast of Fiji I’ll never know,” she added in a mutter, “but he did. And here I am.”
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yes.” She eyed him warily, silver eyes narrowing. “That troubles you? You do not wish a half-breed child?”
“Troubles me?” He whooped and spun around in a circle. “I’ve got you now, Ree! You’re stuck with me forever! Ha!”
“That is sweet,” she said. But she looked doubtful. “Well, shit, you don’t seem very fuckin’ excited about it!”
“I do not wish to trap you, or make you give up your lifestyle. And I am willing to live with you and be your mate—more than willing. But I need the sea, Con. I need to see it, smell it, be in it, every day. Or I’ll die, as you would have died.”
“No problem,” he promised instantly. “We’ll move the studio to the California coast. We don’t have to stay in Alabama. And you can come on-site whenever you want.”
“I shall have to,” she said dryly, “if only to make sure the father of my pup doesn’t expire of dehydration, malnutrition, or shark attack.”
“You can be my costar,” he said eagerly. “You’re the real survival expert. I’ve been telling everybody that.”
“Yes, I saw.” She smiled at him. “That’s why I came back. When you admitted your—ah—failings. To your audience. And your crew. I do not require credit. You may be the survival expert in the family, and the television star. But if you ever leave me again, I will hunt you down and break your silly biped legs.”
“Agreed,” he promised fervently. “Great. No problem. Man, wait’ll I tell my mom! Will the baby be a mermaid, too?”