Free Show Me by Carole Hart

leaving Lorenzo and Annabella to embrace each other . . . then caress each other . . . then renew their bond with slow, tender, devastatingly-gorgeous-person sex. Booley pointed at the screen and said, in a dreamy tone, “See? No money shots, no close-ups of genitals. Tasteful.”
    “Tasteful cheese.”
    “Mozzarella.”
    Zaza sighed. “Well, thank you, Jared Vairy. But I am so not beautiful enough for this show!”
     
     
     
    Zaza had learned about her new job from Jared himself. She had been out drinking with Booley and a couple of Booley’s college friends, trying not to think about Valerie or whether she’d lost her job or—especially—Jared Vairy, who had probably forgotten all about her the instant he turned the corner. She hadn’t even told him her name! What an idiot. Of course, he knew she was Valerie’s new assistant. But would he really remember to put in a good word for her? And if he didn’t even know her name, why would Babylona listen to him? And . . . but . . . and . . . but . . . until Booley waved her hand in front of Zaza’s eyes and said, “Hello? Hello? Are you having a seizure?”
    But just as they got home, Zaza’s cell phone rang. It was Jared Vairy, calling her at midnight from (this was the part Booley couldn’t get over) Babylona’s private jet, Air Force X.
    “I’m sorry to call so late,” he said. “I was thinking it was Bermuda time. Though I think that’s even later. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
    All she could say was, “You’re going to Bermuda?” Then she wanted to kick herself. Her voice sounded so disappointed—as if he was her boyfriend and he was going away for a week without her.
    “Oh, I’m back Wednesday,” he said. “I’ve been commuting all season. It’s murder.”
    “It doesn’t sound like murder,” Zaza said. “I mean, Air Force X. Is there really a water bed on board?”
    There was a brief silence, and she wondered if she had said something wrong. Then she heard him saying to someone else, “Yeah, I’ll be there in a second. Chardonnay.” He came back saying, “Sorry. They’re about to serve dinner.”
    “Sounds like murder ,” Zaza said, laughing.
    “Oh, I lead a dog’s life. And there is a water bed on board. It’s wonderful during turbulence, though I don’t usually like them.”
    “Oh, me, neither,” Zaza said, though she’d never been on a water bed.
    “But before I forget, I talked to Babylona and I did get you another job, though I don’t know if you’ll want it. I mean, I told her I’d have to check with you, so it’s no problem if you don’t. It’s . . . well, acting.”
    “Acting?” The world went black for a moment, and when it was restored, Zaza found herself sitting on the carpet staring at the phone in her hand.
    “Hello?” the phone said. “I’m sorry. Are you angry? I know you might not be—it’s not that I think—”
    She put the phone back to her ear hastily and said, “Acting in what? Of course I’ll do it. Acting in what?”
    And somehow she finished the conversation and hung up the phone without asking the question that was burning in her mind. Did he really think she was pretty enough to be in an erotic soap opera?
     
     
     
    For the three days between that conversation and her appearance on Midnight’s Secrets, Zaza was a wreck. A script was FedExed to her with her lines highlighted in yellow—by an assistant like she’d been, Zaza realized with a slightly guilty thrill. She was playing Lara, sister of the blond knockout Annabella, who unluckily arrived for a visit at the moment that the evil Lothario was rifling through Lorenzo’s belongings, having broken into the house to . . . (Here the plot was too tangled for Zaza to follow, though Booley assured her it was brilliantly stupid.) Lara was obviously immediately kidnapped by the evil twin, and seduced against her better judgment in his evil penthouse. All the while, she imagined she was being seduced by the perfidious