What I Did for Love (Wynette, Texas #5)(33)

She didn’t take the bait. Instead, she started singing “Your Body Is a Wonderland” and tapping out a bass line on the glass panes until he couldn’t stand it any longer and finally ambled over to open one door. “This better not take long. Those hookers I hired will be here any minute.”

“Good to know.” She stepped inside and nodded toward his computer. “While you’ve been drooling over pictures of naked cheerleaders, I’ve been working on our reentry into the world. You might want to take notes.” She sat on the saggy brown couch underneath Marlon Brando and crossed her legs. “You have a Web site, right? I wrote a letter from both of us to post for our fans.” She lost her train of thought as Bram propped his elbows on his desk. Skip had a desk, not Bram. Skip also had a good education, a sense of purpose, and a strong moral fiber.

She pulled herself back together. “Aaron made dinner reservations for us tomorrow night at Mr. Chow. It’ll be a zoo, but I think it’s the fastest way for us to—”

“A letter to our fans and dinner at Mr. Chow? There’s some powerful original thinking. What else’ve you got?”

“Lunch at the Chateau on Wednesday, then dinner at Il Sole on Thursday. There’s a big Alzheimer’s benefit in a couple of weeks. A charity ball is right after that. We eat, we smile, we pose.”

“No balls. None.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Have you talked to a doctor?”

His smile curled like a snake’s tail over shiny white teeth. “I’m going to have a great time spending that fifty thousand you’re paying me every month to endure your company.”

He had no shame. She watched him prop his feet on the edge of his desk. “That’s it then?” he said. “Your plan for how we make a splash? We go out to eat.”

“I suppose we could follow your example and pick up a couple of DUIs, but that seems a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“Cute.” He dropped his feet to the floor. “We’re throwing a party.”

She’d almost been enjoying herself, but now she regarded him suspiciously. “What kind of party?”

“A big, expensive party to celebrate getting married, what the hell do you think? Six weeks from now, maybe two months. Long enough to get out the invitations and build anticipation, but not long enough for the public to lose interest in our great love story. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You thought this up on your own?”

“I’m pretty creative when I’m wasted.”

“You hate anything formal. You used to show up barefoot for the network affiliate parties.” And so gorgeously dissipated every woman in the room had wanted him.

“I promise I’ll wear shoes. Get your guy to find a good party planner. The theme is obvious.”

She uncrossed her legs. “What do you mean, the theme is obvious? It’s not obvious to me.”

“That’s because you don’t drink enough to think creatively.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Skip and Scooter, of course. What else?”

She came up off the couch. “A Skip and Scooter theme? Are you nuts?”

“We’ll ask everybody to dress in costume. Either like the Scofields or the Scofield servants. Upstairs or downstairs.”

“You’re kidding.”

“We’ll have the cake designer put a set of those stupid-ass Skip and Scooter dolls on top.”

“Dolls?”

“The florist should use whatever the blue flowers were in the opening credits. Maybe candy miniatures of the mansion for party favors. That kind of crap.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Give the people what they want, Georgie. It’s the first rule of business. I’m surprised a mogul like you doesn’t know that.”

She stared at him. He smiled back with an innocence that didn’t fit his fallen angel’s face. And that’s when she understood. “Oh, my God…You were serious about a Skip and Scooter reunion show.”

He grinned. “I think we should put the Scofield coat of arms on the table menus. And the family motto…What the hell was it? ‘Greed Forever’?”

“You really do want a reunion show.” She sank into the couch. “It’s not just the money that made you agree to this marriage.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that.”

“You want a reunion show, too.”

His desk chair squeaked as he leaned back. “Our party will be a hell of a lot more fun than that * reception you had when you married the Loser. Tell me you didn’t really leave the church in a carriage with six white horses.”

The carriage had been Lance’s idea, and she’d felt like a princess. But now her prince had run off with the wicked witch, and Georgie had accidentally married the big bad wolf. “I’m not doing a reunion show,” she said. “I’ve spent eight years trying to get out from under Scooter’s shadow, and I’m not walking back into it.”

“If you’d really wanted to get out from under Scooter’s shadow, you wouldn’t have made all those lame romantic comedies.”

“There’s nothing wrong with romantic comedies.”

“There’s something wrong with bad romantic comedies. Those movies weren’t exactly Pretty Woman or Jerry Maguire, babe.”