Marty stuck in a spoon and took a bird-sized bite of ice-cream. Maddie shot us both a look, and yanked the bowl tight against her chest.
“So, you’re ready to get married, then?’’ Marty turned her blue eyes on me, her gaze as sweet as a baby’s. But I recognized the goading tone. I backpedaled, just as she probably knew I would.
“I wouldn’t go that far. I’ve still got time to walk down the aisle.’’
“Not as much time as you think,’’ Maddie butted in. “You’re not getting any younger.’’
I glanced toward Carlos. Kelly was standing now, with a hand on his arm. That famous body of hers was plastered against his side. He swallowed like a high school freshman asking out the homecoming queen. I could see his Adam’s apple bobbing. Kelly laughed, a seductive purr.
“Better stand back, Maddie. You might get burned from the steam pouring out of Mace’s ears,’’ Marty said.
Our big sister surveyed the set of my mouth, which I knew was pretty grim. She took in the way I held my arms, one clutching the other, tight across my chest.
“Oh, yeah. You’re an adult now. Maybe you can get Marty to go pass a note to Carlos during recess: Do you still like Mace? Check yes or no.’’
I was thinking up a smart remark when a hush fell over the tented area. It was followed by the sound of breathless murmuring. “Talent on set,’’ someone said, and I heard a snicker.
Greg Tilton paused. When nearly every eye was on him, he puffed out his chest and John-Wayne-walked to the coffee urn in the craft services truck. I swear he flexed his bicep before reaching for a cup.
“Why do these Hollywood people always look like they’re making an entrance in a Broadway play?’’ I asked.
Neither of my sisters answered. Both stared at Tilton as if mesmerized by a cloud of golden stardust around his body. I don’t think either of them was breathing.
“He’s even better-looking in person,’’ Marty finally whispered.
“The man is a Hollywood god,’’ Maddie sighed.
I tore a few paper towels off the roll on the picnic table. “Here you go, sisters. Sop up that drool before it drops off your chins and soaks through your blouses.’’
“Gross!’’ Marty jabbed me in the ribs.
“I do not drool.’’ Maddie surreptitiously ran the back of her hand under her mouth, just in case she was wrong. “Drooling is not becoming for a school principal.’’
We watched as Tilton, coffee in hand, strutted over to Kelly Conover. Carlos turned unreadable eyes and an impassive face toward him. Tilton’s arrival gave me the excuse I needed to get closer to eavesdrop more easily on my boyfriend and the gorgeous actress. My sisters moved right along with me.
Tilton leaned toward Kelly. As he whispered something in her ear, he grabbed hold of her elbow. She tugged backwards, but he stepped with her. He looked to be hanging on even tighter. Possessive.
“Were they ever an item?’’ I asked under my breath.
My sisters shrugged.
“We’ll have to find out what it says in People magazine. The shampoo girl at Hair Today will definitely know,’’ I said.
“Mama will know. He’s her favorite actor,’’ Marty said.
Kelly inched back some more, and Tilton quickly closed the gap between them. Carlos put a heavy hand on the action star’s shoulder.
“The lady isn’t interested.’’ His voice was quiet. Dangerous. “Why don’t you back off ?’’
Wisely, Tilton did just that. He dropped his co-star’s elbow and gave a good-natured shrug. “Sorry, Kel. It’s been a hell of a day. I’m not myself.’’
His gaze returned to Carlos. “Thanks, man. I need someone to keep me in line. You’re the real deal, you know that?’’
Carlos raised an eyebrow. His face was still closed; hard-looking. It was his Miami face.
Tilton went on, “Being a cop and all. A detective, I mean. I just respect you guys on the force so much. I always end up acting like a complete idiot when I get around real cops. I’ve played so many—not to mention firefighters, paramedics, and soldiers. I try to act too familiar.’’
Tilton kicked self-consciously at the ground. Could that be a blush spreading up his neck?
“I forget I’m playing a role. You guys play for keeps.’’ He stuck out a hand toward Carlos. “I’m sorry, man, for being a jerk.’’
Carlos hesitated just a second or two, and then shook. The tense posture of his body seemed to relax, the line of his jaw softened. It wasn’t exactly a smile, but it was something less than a scowl.
Just as Carlos opened his mouth to respond, a gunshot ripped through the air. In one fluid motion, he drew his own weapon, whirled toward the sound, and shouted out a command.
“Everybody, get down!’’
I didn’t argue, scrambling under a table for cover. My sisters followed. Most everyone followed suit, including Tilton and Kelly. I peeked out from behind a plastic tablecloth. Apart from Carlos, Toby Wyle was the only person I saw still standing. I pulled the cloth aside and pointed, so my sisters could also see the young star.
White-faced and trembling, gun still in his hand, Toby stared across the tent. My eyes followed his and found Johnny Jaybird, the assistant director. He was hanging on to the back of a folding chair, trying to stand.
“Place the weapon on the ground,’’ Carlos shouted. “Slowly.’’
Toby looked at the gun he held like it was a foreign object that had magically come into his possession. He stared again at Johnny Jaybird, who had knocked over the chair. Johnny staggered, clutching his side. A dark stain seeped through his pearl-colored cashmere sweater.
“Put it down!’’ Gun drawn, Carlos closed in on Toby.
The teenager’s eyes were enormous in his colorless face. He looked once more at Johnny, and then at the gun in his hand. He dropped to his knees, the gun dangling inches from the ground.
It landed with a thud, just as Johnny Jaybird collapsed onto the floor.
“Someone call 911!’’ Jesse Donahue pushed past stunned onlookers. “Do it now.’’ Her voice was urgent, but calm.
She kneeled on the ground beside Johnny Jaybird. Without a wasted motion, she felt for a pulse, and then lifted his cashmere sweater and dress shirt to check the wound. Whipping off a scarf that was tied at her neck, she balled up the fabric and held it to his side.
She looked up, her gaze finding Toby. “Good thing you’re such a bad shot.’’
Carlos stood close to Toby, unloading and checking the gun while keeping an eye on the young star. Toby’s gaze was fastened on the fallen assistant director.
“It wasn’t supposed to be live ammunition,’’ he kept repeating. “It was supposed to be blanks.’’
The crowd pressed in: Watching. Straining to hear Toby’s sing-song chorus of disbelief.
It was supposed to be blanks. It was supposed to be blanks.
“Get outta the way!’’ A loud, raspy voice announced the arrival of Barbara Sydney. “I’m Toby’s manager.’’
I thought he needed an attorney more than a manager at this juncture, but I held my tongue.
She pushed her way to her client, who was still dangerously pale and trembling. She put an arm around his shoulder, tenderly smoothed his hair, and whispered something into his ear. Slumping toward her, he placed his head against her chest. Then he dissolved into sobs.
She raised her eyebrows at Carlos over Toby’s head. “Somebody will surely get all this as a video on their cell phone. He’s just a kid. Can we take him someplace a little more private? Someplace he won’t wind up on YouTube?’’
Things happened quickly in the next few moments: The movie’s set medic rushed in. He waved away Jesse, and conducted a professional assessment of Johnny’s condition. He briefed Carlos, who then summoned Sal via his cell to help handle security in the base camp. Soon, Sal was in place, Johnny was getting emergency treatment, and a county ambulance was en route to the movie location. Carlos returned his attention to Toby and Barbara.