“Yes. Maybe. And no. He sped off.”
“A hit-and-run? My baby’s been in a hit-and-run!”
I felt my neck growing more tense and wondered if maybe this wasn’t the wisest person to call after all. “Mom, I’m okay. Really. I just…Dana and I need a ride.”
“Baby, don’t move. I’ll be right there.”
After I gave Mom the address, I hung up and dialed Information for the nearest towing company, who said they’d be there in half an hour. I sat down on the curb to wait next to Dana, who was digging in her purse for an aspirin, and stared at my crushed baby.
“Look on the bright side, ” Dana said. “At least he didn’t have a gun.”
You know your day sucks when the high point is that you haven’t had a gun pointed at you.
Ten minutes later Mom’s minivan screeched to a halt beside the remains of my Jeep. She barely had the engine turned off before she vaulted out of the car, followed closely by Mrs. Rosenblatt. And Pablo the Parrot.
“Squawk. Love my lady lumps.”
Mrs. R held Pablo’s cage by the top and waddled toward us.
“What is that thing?” Dana asked, peering between the bars.
“This here is Pablo. Marco said he’d give me twenty dollars to take him for the afternoon.”
“Maddie!” Mom yelled, wrapping me in a rib-crusher hug. “Are you okay?”
I winced as my neck seized up again. “I’m fine.” I think.
“What happened?”
I gave Dana a sidelong glance. But before I could send her the psychic message to wait until I’d formed an edited-for-Mom version, she flipped her hair over one shoulder and launched into dramatic-monologue mode.
“Ohmigod, it was, like, totally out of a movie or something. This SUV, like, totally slammed into us, and we were like, ‘Holy crap, he just slammed into us!’ and then he did it again. So then Maddie did, like, this total street-racer move down this alley, and then this SUV, he jumped a curb and comes up beside us and totally starts trying to smash us against the wall! So then we, like, slammed on the brakes and did this killer spin, then flew into the parking lot. I totally think he was, like, trying to kill us or something!”
Mom blinked. Then she grabbed me in another fierce hug.
Mrs. Rosenblatt shook her head. “I tell you, that Mercury in retrograde makes people nuts. Did you try shootin’ him with your pepper spray?”
“Oh, well, I, uh, I kinda lost my spray.”
“Lost it?”
“Um, yeah. Sorry.”
Mrs. R dug around in her purse, pulling out a canister. “This here is from my personal stash. I always carry one. I used this sucker on a creep in this bar once. Knocked him flat. Course, I took him home after that and he turned out to be my second husband, Carl.”
I rolled my eyes. But considering I was still dealing with adrenaline aftershocks, I slipped the spray into my purse.
“Really, it was her car that took the brunt, ” Dana said, gesturing to what was once my Jeep.
Mom took one look at the smashed Jeep and hugged me again. Honestly, though, this time I didn’t mind. Staring at my car, I kind of needed a hug.
After the tow truck arrived and hauled my mangled Jeep to the nearest service station, Mom, Mrs. R, Dana, Pablo, and I all piled into her minivan and she drove us back to the studios. All to the tune of Pablo singing his little heart out. “Don’t you love my lady lumps! Squawk.”
Mrs. Rosenblatt should have held out for fifty.
By the time we got back to the lot, Dana was way late and Steinman was yelling out for that “new wardrobe girl” to get the hideous pair of chandelier earrings off Margo. After that it was changing Ricky’s sweater so it didn’t clash with the shoes Mia wanted to wear, and after that it was pinning Kylie’s hem higher so she didn’t look, and I quote, “all old ‘n’ stuff.” After that I was in serious need of an aspirin. With a tequila chaser. My neck was so stiff I couldn’t turn to the right, and my head was starting to ache. I was just contemplating an early leave when Steinman caught me at the Starbucks carafe.
“Wardrobe, right?” he barked.
I tentatively looked up from my cup. “Yes?”
“I need Blake out here in his hospital gown now. We’re shooting Mia and him in fifteen.”
“Okay, but then I need to go…” I started to say, but Steinman had already walked away.
So much for leaving early.
On the other hand, I hadn’t yet had a chance to talk to Blake alone. And while Veronika’s baby-daddy was at the top of our list, I couldn’t ignore the fact that being forced into a coma could give a guy one heck of a motive for murder.
I downed my coffee and, after stopping off at wardrobe to grab Ricky’s gown, made my way out back to the trailers. I passed by Mia’s, now void of the ugly crime-scene tape, and the one marked TALENT, until I got to Blake’s. The outside was the same white corrugated metal as the others, though I noticed it looked a couple of feet shorter than Mia’s.
I climbed the steps and gave a sharp rap on the closed door. “Wardrobe!” I called out.
I heard a muffled, “Come in, ” from inside and turned the metal latch.
While the exterior of the trailer was a match to Mia’s, the inside couldn’t have been more different. Instead of the custom drapes, plush furnishings, and granite-covered kitchen, Blake’s trailer looked like your standard-issue motor coach for the retired and idle. A small bench-style dinette sat in the middle, the top covered in papers, while a tiny kitchen holding a microwave and mini fridge done in seventies olive green sat to the right. The carpet was a matted brown that was so thin I’d bet my Via Spigas it was laid right on top of the plywood. The curtains were a dull, pleated polyester, and the entire place smelled slightly of burritos and stale Chinese food.
“Dusty, is that you?” Blake called from down the hallway.
I peeked my head to the left and noticed a bedroom, as in Mia’s trailer, this one considerably smaller and done in wallpaper made to look like wood paneling. “Actually, it’s Maddie. Steinman wants you in your hospital gown for the next scene.”
Blake groaned, then appeared from the bedroom, his slacks and white shirt looking rumpled, as if I’d caught him napping. “I don’t know why he even bothers. It’s not like I’m any more than a glorified prop at this point.”
“Sucks being in a coma, huh?” I asked, handing him the gown.
Blake shrugged his shoulders and shot me a sad look. “Well, at least I don’t have to stress over my lines.”
“How long has Preston been comatose?” I asked.
He gave a deep sigh. “Months.”
“Any idea when he’s waking up?” Okay, I’ll admit, this was just the TV junkie in me asking now.
He shook his head. “No. No end in sight. Be right back. I’ll just…” He trailed off, gesturing to the gown, then shuffled back down the little hall to the bedroom.
Keeping one eye on the door, I walked over to the dinette, gingerly sifting through the papers. Mostly racing forms, crossword puzzles, a few fan letters thrown in, though certainly not the pile Mia had. “So, I heard that the coma was originally Mia’s idea.”
“That’s right, ” Blake replied from behind the door. “She thought it would add some drama to her and Nurse Nan’s relationship.”
“Was that the only reason?” I quickly scanned through the fan mail. Nothing threatening, though I noticed that Blake’s fan base tended to be a bit older than Mia’s. There was one woman asking him to appear at her bingo club, another wanting to take him for an early-bird special at Applebee’s.
Blake popped his head out of the room and I quickly took two steps back from the table. Luckily, Blake didn’t seem to notice. “Why? What have you heard?” he asked.
“Nothing…” I hedged, watching his reaction. “Just that you and Mia had dated, and then she suggested that your character be put in a coma.”