Free Secrets of a Soap Opera Diva by Victoria Rowell Page A

sexy voice of Derrick Taylor, my former leading man, on and off stage. We had been the most popular black super-couple in daytime. Derrick had left his wildly popular role as Dove Jordan on
The Rich and the Ruthless
two years earlier for the WBC prime-time series
Pathological Murders,
and more than a million viewers left with him.
    My heart skipping a beat, I turned around to see my old flame pulling up beside me in his custom Rolls-Royce Phantom Drophead convertible.
    “What’s going on, sexy?” he asked with a grin that revealed his twin trademark dimples. Derrick employed his good looks like a well-used passport.
    A smile broke across my face.
    The intern stood in disbelief, seeing Derrick Taylor, the eight-pack-sporting soap-star-turned-prime-time-vigilante-action-hero up close.
    “Mr. Taylor, I have specific orders,” Jay said tensely. “I could get in trouble.”
    “Chill, anybody gives you trouble, tell ’em to come see Derrick Taylor,” he said with a cocksure attitude. “Calysta, get yo fine ass in this car, we’re holdin’ up traffic.”
    He didn’t have to ask me twice. Undone as I was, I managed to vamp my way around the polished Rolls and slide into heaven.
    Smelling of Armani’s Acqua di Gio cologne, Derrick leaned over to lay his firm lips on my cheek. And like Pavlov’s dog, I had a reaction that remained concealed.
    “Derrick, you’re a lifesaver. Some girls get a prince on a white horse; I get a brutha in a bullet gray Phantom.”
    “What can I say? I’m always happy to help a damsel in distress.”
    We shared a laugh before I looked away. Derrick parked.
    “So, shortie, what’s going on? You have a flat or somethin’?”
    “It’s a long story.”
    “You know your new leading man, Ethan—” Derrick began.
    “Please don’t call him that,” I interrupted. “He’s a bad replacement.”
    “Remember when the dork left me that stalker message on my voicemail?”
    “Who could forget?”
    “It was wack. ‘Man you got the crib, the ride, and the women I want and now you got my show. Good luck you bastard.’”
    “What a loser,” I clucked. “He’s still braggin’ about that
Pathological Murders
audition to anyone who’ll listen. Ain’t nobody tryin’ to hire his bubbler butt outside of daytime. You might consider getting a restraining order,” I suggested as we maliciously snickered together.
    “I’ve been hearin’ all kinds of crazy mess about you leaving the show. Is it true, babe?”
    “Yeah, it’s true,” I said, disguising my pain. “And I’ll tell you what else is true.”
    “What’s that?”
    “I truly miss you on the set, D. These people get crazier by the day,tryin’ to minimize the tracks we laid down for this damn sudser and doin’ it
without
the same paper.”
    “Word. Ain’t that nothin’?
Believe,
with Edith ’n’ the Barringers,
dollar’s king
. They still ain’t ready to invest in big brown but
trust . . .
they will. In the meantime you gotta be lookin’ out for number one. You still cute ’n’ got time on your side. Remember, black . . .”
    “. . . don’t crack. I feel you on that,” I replied. “I shoulda left when your behin’ did. Heard daytime only has a few more years.”
    Derrick had declined to return to the number one soap during his last round of contract negotiations, when despite his titanic stature as daytime’s most popular actor,
The Rich and the Ruthless
refused to offer the soap god the same northern-million-dollar salaries offered to popular white leading actors. The WBC, not wanting to lose Derrick, a Nielsen ratings magnet, offered the hunky leading man a series regular spot on the prime-time procedural
Pathological Murders
. He more than cleaned up.
    “So where’s the exotic location shoot this year?” Derrick teased. “Flying anywhere nice in the honeymoon jet?”
    Laughing briefly, I thought of my many trips on the Vinn Hansen private plane. Pretending to be at cruising altitude, the grounded jet