The Homewreckers(120)

“Yeah, but Hattie, it was a hit piece. She talked about how there are all kinds of problems on Homewreckers, about the murder, of course, and the code violations and the fire—all of that—plus what she called tension between you and Trae, and me and Trae. I can’t believe you didn’t see it—or that nobody called to tell you about it. Not even Cass?”

“My phone,” Hattie said, feeling around on the sofa cushions. “I don’t know where it is.” She got up and lifted the cushion she’d been sitting on. “It’s not here.”

“I’ll call you,” Mo said, pulling his own cell from his pocket. He tapped her name on his contact list and they heard a faint buzzing coming from the direction of the bedroom.

Hattie followed the buzzing and emerged from the bedroom holding the phone. “I left it in the pocket of my jeans, on the bathroom floor.” She studied the call log.

“Uh-oh. Four calls from Cass, one from Zenobia.” She looked up at Mo. “And one from my father, who never, ever calls me. What the hell?”

“Someone told Jada about your father. About the embezzlement thing, and how he went to prison.”

Hattie’s face crumpled. “She brought up my dad? On television? What’s that got to do with anything? And how did she find out about it?”

He got up and sat beside her on the sofa. “I’m sorry. If I’d known she was going to do a piece like that, I never would have allowed her on the set. Honest to God, I thought she was working on a puff piece, about you and Trae.…”

“What else? What else did she say about me?”

She looked back down at her phone. “Wait. Cass sent me the link to the show.”

“You don’t want to watch it,” Mo said quickly. “I’ll give you the nitty-gritty. Jada Watkins apparently called Rebecca and asked for her reaction to the thing about your dad. Because of the morals clause you signed in your contract.”

“My morals are just fine,” Hattie said. “I was fifteen when he stole that money. I had nothing to do with any of that. Why, Mo? Why would someone deliberately trash me like this?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Have you talked to Rebecca?”

“I called her on my way over here and left a message.”

“Is it true? Can the network fire me? Can they enforce that morals thing?”

“No,” Mo said quickly. “I’m the only one who can fire you, and that’s not happening.”

“Can they cancel the show?”

“They won’t. They’ve given us a primetime slot and invested a lot of their own money in Homewreckers. They’ve already begun promoting it on the network.”

“I just don’t get it,” Hattie said. “It’s horrible. Who would do this to me?”

Ribsy whimpered, jumped up on the sofa, and started licking his mistress’s arm in consolation.

Mo patted her back awkwardly. “I know this sounds sick, but even bad publicity is good publicity as far as the network is concerned.”

“It is sick,” Hattie said. “I’m going to quit the show. None of this is worth it. Let Trae finish the house. Maybe then we can sell it, and I can give you and the network what you’ve invested in it.”

“Don’t do that,” Mo said sharply. “I know you’re upset, but listen to me. If you quit Homewreckers, people will believe you have something to be ashamed of. I don’t give a flying fuck about the show or the network. But I do care about you.”

“You do?” She searched his face for confirmation. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, his lips grazing hers. “I really do.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Hattie said.

“I was trying to avoid that whole casting couch thing. Falling for your leading lady? It’s such a showbiz cliché. And it seldom works out in the long run.”

“I don’t know,” Hattie mused. “What about Tracy and Hepburn?”

“There’s that,” Mo said, kissing her deeply this time. “And also Bogie and Bacall.”

“Mmmm, my fave,” Hattie said, kissing him back.

She pulled away for a moment. “You know, the other night when you brought me home? Just before you left, I could swear you kissed me.…”

“Because you told me to,” Mo said.

“Me?” She looked perplexed. “I was so out of it, I wasn’t sure I didn’t just dream it.”

“I distinctly heard you tell me to kiss you, so I did.”

He kissed her again. “Did you want it to be a dream?”

“No,” she admitted, tracing the stubble on his jaw. “I wanted it to be real. And I wanted there to be more.”

She placed her hands on either side of Mo’s face. “You’re a really good guy, aren’t you?”

“I try.”

She kissed him deeply, then stood, holding out her hand to him. “Come on, then. If we’re going to do this, I want to do it in my nice, cushy bed instead of this lumpy old sofa.”

Mo’s face lit up. “Are we going to do it? In your bedroom?”

Hattie smiled and tugged him to his feet. “Much better than a casting couch, don’t you think?”