The Homewreckers(12)

“That case was dismissed. Her contract with the production company specifically said they were not liable for any relationship issues arising from the show.”

Cass snapped her fingers. “I remember that show. Axel? Was that the guy’s name? Total stud, but dumber than a box of rocks. And also, I thought he was secretly gay.”

“Not so secretly,” Mo said. “Except to Penny. But could we get back to the reason why I wanted to meet with you two? First off, Saving Savannah is not an ‘alleged’ show. I have a commitment from the network, and an incredibly tight deadline. So what’s it gonna be?”

“Thanks for the coffee, but I’m still a no,” Hattie said.

“Can I ask why you’re so dead set against my proposal?”

“I’m just not interested. I’m a contractor, not a character in some made-up quote ‘reality’ show. I take my work seriously, even if you don’t. I believe in fixing up old houses, finding their souls, making them shine again, and giving them new life.”

“I’m giving you the opportunity to do that, and more,” Mo said. “This is a chance to recoup your losses—not just your own, but your father-in-law’s losses, too. I’m guessing he also had a sizable investment in that house, right?”

“Yes. And I’m determined to make that up to him.”

“Doing this show could help you do that. You’d get paid and the publicity for Kavanaugh and Son would be priceless. Clients will be lining up to hire your company. It’s a surefire deal.”

Hattie still looked dubious. “Surefire? For real?”

“Yes,” Mo said. “If we get the sizzle reel shot, like, right away, and the network gives us the green light.”

Cass tapped Hattie’s hand. “Now will you listen?”

“What’s a sizzle reel?” Hattie said.

Mo smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”





6

Hattie When She Sizzles




“What we’re doing today isn’t a sizzle, it’s more like a talent reel,” Mo explained. “I’ll film you, just with my phone, ask you some questions about yourself, your experience in the business, that kind of thing. Very informal. It’s just so the network can get an idea of who you are. As a person.”

“Like an audition?” Hattie didn’t like the sound of it. She didn’t like the sound of any of this. It felt weird. “This feels too personal,” she complained. They were sitting in the living room of her bungalow in Thunderbolt. It had been Mauricio Lopez’s idea. “Why can’t we just do this at the office?”

“We’re not just selling you,” he said. “We’re selling your personality, your aesthetic. You renovated this house, right? So it’s full of your personality. Your look.”

He’d had some misgivings when he pulled up to the house. The clapboard siding bore a patchwork of paint colors, there were stacks of lumber and building materials in the driveway, and the yard looked shaggy and neglected.

She gave him a quick tour of the bungalow, noting his raised eyebrow at the unfinished state of the kitchen. “You know how it is,” Hattie said. “The cobbler’s children…”

The living room was a different story. The plaster walls were painted a warm white, and all the original walnut woodwork gleamed in the late afternoon sun. There was a fireplace with an unusual arched firebox, but instead of firewood, it was filled to the top with large, bleached-out conch shells. Built-in bookshelves on either side of the fireplace were crammed with books, mostly paperbacks, interspersed with bird’s nests, deer antlers, chunks of coral, framed bird prints, and more seashells. And was that a cow skull?

He was seated in an armchair with a white slipcover and threadbare arms. An old blue-and-white quilt had been tossed over the seat. The sofa was white too, come to think of it, and the cushions were mashed down, almost misshapen with age. Paintings were hung on all the walls, and all of them were seascapes.

“You can tell a lot about a person by the things they surround themselves with,” Mo said. “That’s what the network wants to see. Your authentic personality.”

“I’m not sure I want them to know that much about me,” Hattie shot back. “Why can’t I just do what I do? Fix up old houses? Why does this need to be about me?”

Mo sighed. He’d been trying to get Hattie to relax and open up for the past forty minutes. Frankly, he’d never worked with such unenthusiastic talent. Most of the people he encountered in his line of work were dying to get into show business, falling all over themselves to be stars of the small screen. More than one woman had actually offered to sleep with him. Men, too. Hattie Kavanaugh was the complete opposite.

“I could go to any construction site in town and get any random yahoo with a tool belt and a contractor’s license to show me how to fix up a house,” Mo said. “But I chose you. Because you’ve got something. You’re passionate. You’re smart. You’ve got attitude. Too much attitude. And it doesn’t hurt that you’re damned attractive. The camera is going to love you.”

“Me?” Hattie seemed taken aback.

“You’ve done something different with your hair today, right?”

She blushed. Cass had bullied her into getting a blowout at the salon down the block from their office. Now her stick-straight hair was soft and shiny and fell in waves to her shoulders. All morning she’d been fighting the urge to bunch it up into a ponytail. She was wearing makeup, too. Not a lot. Just some blush and mascara and lipstick.