Leave Yesterday Behind Read online

  Jessica simply raised her chin a notch and awaited her instructions. Not that Marvin really told her what to do anymore. She’d been Jessica long before he came on board Sumner Falls. Besides, the writers understood how she turned a phrase and wrote accordingly for her. Callie knew instinctively when to pause, when to raise a brow, when to turn up the heat, and when to freeze someone out.

  She was good. Four Daytime Emmys said so. And Marvin earned three, riding her coattails.

  “Let’s go,” the director said, his voice sounding tinny over the ancient P.A. system.

  All vestiges of Callie Chennault vanished. Jessica picked up the phone, moistened her lips, and said breathily, “I need to see you, Ricardo. No. It can’t wait. Now. My place.”

  Callie dried her face with a fluffy towel and hung it back up. She loosened the tight chignon, which often gave her a headache, and shook out her hair, combing her fingers through it as it fell about her shoulders. She picked up a tinted lip balm and smoothed it over her lips. They were always dry after she scrubbed away Ravenous Red, the flaming color that was Jessica’s trademark and available for purchase at finer department stores. She slipped back into her street clothes and grabbed her yoga backpack.

  Sandra popped her head into the dressing room. “Tomorrow’s script, Cal. Lotta lines for you, girl. Beth stopped by earlier and highlighted them for you.” She tucked the pages into Callie’s messenger bag. “She said do not, do not, be late to yoga. Or she’ll never forgive you. Ever. That is a direct quote.”

  She chuckled. Beth got her into yoga three years ago, and they both were totally addicted. Callie lived for the seven o’clock twice-weekly class they attended and did Rodney Yee DVDs in her apartment the other nights. Yoga helped her maintain her sanity in the crazy world of soaps.

  “Anything promising? Or did you actually not read ahead for once?”

  The make-up artist shrugged. “It’s a scheduled Friday show. You and Ricardo end in a clinch, romance-cover style.”

  She grinned. “So on Monday will I eat him up, spit him out, or push him away? I know you know. Dating one of the writers does have some perks.”

  Sandra drew a line across her lips and tossed away an imaginary key. “I like it better when you don’t know what’s coming. Besides, it depends upon if you re-sign. Like that wouldn’t happen.” Sandra rolled her eyes. “See you tomorrow, Cal.”

  She nodded, picking up her bag and backpack. Good old Callie. Always predictable. The good girl who did what everyone expected and would naturally rollover her contract for another two years, no questions asked. Harry was bucking to set things up for three. She knew it was so he could buy that weekend place on the beach his wife always nagged him about.

  Yet why did she feel so unhappy? She was still fairly young. Single. Rich. Beautiful. She had one of the highest Q ratings around. What more could she want? Especially today, with so many soap operas biting the dust. Sure, a few tried to make the transition and become web-based shows, but more and more were being canceled for reality programming such as The View or The Chew, which were more cost-effective. Sumner Falls, like The Young and the Restless, was one of the few left. It was safe because it was a moneymaker and had a rabid fan base.

  So why would she even toy with the idea of not re-upping? For an actor to have a steady gig, much less one so successful and lucrative, was pretty much unheard of. No one in her right mind would opt out for the unknown.

  Or would they?

  She headed out of the studio. Only three fans awaited her outside tonight. She posed for pictures, signed autographs for everyone, even scrawling her name across a tennis shoe. That was a first. She started down the Midtown Street at a rapid pace. Her class began in less than ten minutes. She couldn’t afford to be late. She needed every minute of that deep breathing to cleanse away all the mess that was Jessica.

  “I love you, Jessica,” the man whispered under his breath as he watched her from across the busy lanes of traffic. He fell into step, matching her stride for stride. It was the fifty-ninth time he’d followed her to her yoga class.

  He planned for it to be the last.

  Chapter 2

  Callie took a last swallow of her chai tea and stretched lazily. She glanced around the coffeehouse and was surprised to find how few people remained.

  “It’s already after nine,” she exclaimed. “I am dead meat.” She began grabbing her things, standing to throw the yoga bag over one shoulder as she reached for her purse.

  Beth laughed as she gathered her items. “Only soap folks would understand why you’re in a tizzy, Cal.”

  “People think we lead such glamorous lives. Little do they know we have zero social life. Come home, learn your lines, hit the sack. Repeat.” She sighed. “I can’t remember the last time I was awake to see the eleven o’clock news, much less Kimmel or Fallon. If they’re even still on.”

  They walked toward the door. Beth added, “I do believe you got in a yoga class and had a wonderful hour of gossip tonight. Isn’t that worth getting home a little later than usual?”

  Callie groaned. “You’re the one that highlighted my lines for me, Beth. There’s gotta be a ton. Jessica and Ricardo are alone at her place when we open tomorrow.”

  Her friend sniffed. “And thank God she’s spilling the beans to him about Little Miss Rich Heiress. I just hate that two-timing bitch.”

  She laughed. “You hate her because she always took up all the dressing room with her crap thrown around.”

  Beth said, “Cal, it’s been years since you had to share space with another actress. That woman was like a fifteen-year-old. Her stuff was always everywhere. And she would take my make-up and my designer clothes and dump them on the floor and push them under the sofa. She is the reason I left Sumner Falls.”

  Callie pushed open the coffeehouse door. The cool March night had turned windy. She zipped up her jacket and gave Beth a knowing glance.

  “You chucked Sumner Falls when Mr. Right came along and you know it.”

  “Speaking of Mr. Right. Are we still on for this weekend?”

  She grimaced. “Blind dates are not my idea of fun.”

  “It’s a freakin’ dinner party, Cal. Lots of people around. It’s not as if you’ll be stuck with Ted all night.” Beth grinned. “Besides, he’s single, a plastic surgeon, and hot. Emphasis on the hot part. I think you’ll be a terrific match.”

  “Then why hasn’t Saint Ted, the-appointed-hot-one, already been snagged? Maybe I just have a suspicious nature, but you’re making him sound too good to be true.”

  A loud boom of thunder echoed through the dark night.

  “I won’t take no for an answer.” Beth turned her eyes toward the sky. “I think it’s about to pour. I’m going to catch a cab.” She smiled at Callie. “The faster I can get home, the sooner I can send out an e-blast to all Callie Chennault Fan Club members to be sure and tune in for a fatal showdown with Ricardo coming up in the near future.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, right, Ms. President. And here I thought you were just good at helping me with my lines and answering my fan mail.”

  Beth hugged her and then raised a hand to hail a passing cab. “Wear the red dress on Saturday night. You’ll knock Saint Ted’s eyes from their sockets.”

  “Great, a true blind date,” she quipped.

  Beth flipped her the bird and jumped into the taxi that pulled up.

  She waved goodbye as the cab pulled away from the curb. She didn’t know what she’d do without Beth’s friendship.

  Except for this dating thing.

  Her friend was extremely happy, with a toddler and loving husband, and she wanted Callie to be just as satisfied. She’d lost count of the number of times Beth set her up with acquaintances from church, Mark’s hospital, various cousins, neighbors, and even a guy from Beth’s dog’s obe
dience class. She played along gamely. Half of her secretly hoped she would find Prince Charming this way. The other half just wished Beth would wave the white flag of surrender and leave her in peace.

  Because when it came down to it, what man wanted a woman who worked long hours, came home and stuck her nose in a script, mumbled to herself as she memorized lines, and then dropped into bed before ten every night? The men in her life found out how boring her regimented life was and left the relationship without a backward glance.

  She hitched her yoga bag higher and started walking as a light mist began to fall. Hey, she was still single. Would this set-up guy think something might be wrong with her? Maybe Dr. Ted, the-appointed-hot-one, had as many misgivings about Saturday night as she did. Maybe he would think she’d been married half a dozen times like Jessica. Most people did. Or maybe he would be one of twelve men left in America with no clue as to who she was.

  She doubted it.

  “Forget about it,” she muttered to herself. She had more important things to worry about, such as calling Aunt Callandra when she got home. Her great-aunt couldn’t seem to shake this flu going around. Callie worried about her. She wasn’t getting any younger at eighty-two.

  Then a strange feeling washed over her, a sense of foreboding so strong that she quickly turned and glanced around to see if someone followed her. A man brushed by, jarring her without a word of apology. A couple in their mid-forties was about thirty yards behind her, turning the corner away from her. No one else shared her sidewalk. It was a late, dark, and rainy weekday night. In this neighborhood, all sensible people had already found their way home.

  Spooked, Callie pulled up her hood and clutched her purse and bag more tightly as the mist turned to a steady rain. She couldn’t help but shake the feeling that someone still watched her, so she picked up her pace.

  Maybe she should take a cab home. But her subway station was only a block and half away. It would be foolish to stand out in a downpour after nine at night when she could duck in and be on her way downtown in a couple of minutes. She liked that people left her alone on the subway. A few sometimes stared at her and frowned, wondering if they’d ever seen her before. Most turned away, not quite able to place her.

  After all, she left Jessica behind at the studio every day. No chic clothes, Ravenous Red mouth, or fancy hairstyle. She didn’t often get recognized in real life unless it was a die-hard fan. Even then, most New Yorkers were cool about it and simply ignored her.

  Chill out. Just move.

  She took a few steps and stopped when her foot hit gum. “Great. That’s what you get when you’re not watching where you go, Cal.” She stopped and lifted her shoe for inspection, swearing softly under her breath.

  “Jessica?”

  She turned automatically and thought it was sad that she answered to two names as she saw a man standing behind her. He was probably the reason she’d had the feeling of being followed. He seemed a little out of breath, as if he’d been keeping up with her awhile. It had happened before. She knew it would happen again.

  And always with this type.

  He was non-descript in every way—average height, average build, brown hair, glasses. Harmless looking. Dopey grin on his face, like he’d hit the lottery because he’d actually had the balls to speak to the crush of his daydreams. She knew enough to be firm. Give him a brief little personal moment, a smile and her signature on something, and get back to her life.

  Then a quick flash of John Lennon signing an autograph for Mark David Chapman zipped through her brain. He’d been average, too.

  And he’d killed Lennon hours after someone snapped a photograph of them together.

  “You don’t look like Jessica up close.” His voice was silky, almost caressing, yet the tone was definitely disappointed.

  Her pulse quickened. She took a step back to put a little distance between them and brushed against a brick wall.

  “I like to give my skin a rest away from the studio. All that heavy make-up and hairspray can cause a girl some damage. I like to let my skin breathe.” She kept her tone calm and friendly as she glanced over the man’s shoulder.

  No one was in sight.

  “I want to see Jessica.” His mouth turned into a pout that would put Ricardo to shame. “She’s my favorite, you know.”

  He pulled something from his pocket and held it up. “Put this on. It’ll help. It’s the perfect shade.” He smiled shyly. “I’ll even let you do it. You’re the expert.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist and laid the item in her hand before letting go.

  Chills ran through her as she opened her palm. In it lay a gold tube of Jessica’s signature Ravenous Red. This one meant business.

  “I’m afraid I can’t without a—”

  A knife appeared, clutched in his left hand. Her heart beat erratically for a moment. Her words died in her throat.

  “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “You know how to be Jessica whenever you want to.”

  Her palms grew damp. The lipstick almost slipped from her hand.

  “Jessica always likes to be seen wearing this color. Put it on. Now.” His voice was quiet, but the underlying threat hung in the air all the same.

  Callie brought a shaking hand to her mouth and realized the lid was still on. She removed it and twisted a few turns before she lifted the lipstick close again.

  Oh, God, she was so nervous. She stroked color onto her upper lip and then across the bottom. Her hand slipped, though, and a searing red line jutted across her lower cheek.

  “You made a mistake. Wipe it off and do it again. It has to be perfect.” The tone was deadly calm.

  “I’ll need some cold cream. Red stains pretty badly.” She gulped air, trying to calm herself. She couldn’t let this guy see how rattled she was. “And I know you want this to be perfect. So do I.”

  “I can fix it.”

  She watched him pull a tissue from his jacket pocket. He gave it a lick and then stroked it down her cheek to her jaw several times.

  “That’s better,” he said, dreamily smiling as he inspected his work. “Now try again.”

  Her eyes met his, and Callie prayed her hands would stop shaking enough for her to get it right this time.

  Why me! her brained screamed. She’d never seen the need to use any type of bodyguard. For God’s sake, she was just a soap star. Soap fans were always friendly. They didn’t really treat you like a movie star because you came into their homes every weekday. They thought they knew you. Fans considered you family.

  But fan was short for fanatic. She knew she’d just run into the motherfucker of all fans.

  Do not cry, she told herself. What would work? He said he wanted Jessica—so Callie would unleash her alter ego’s persona in all her glory. Maybe Jessica could get her out of this situation.

  Immediately, her posture changed. She tilted her head slightly as she pressed her lips together, sealing the color. The Jessica juices began to flow through her. The flirtiness. The sexiness. The pout.

  “You are a very interesting man.” She ran a slender hand along the arm without the knife. Don’t think about the knife. “I’m convinced we need to get to know one another a little better,” she said huskily. Whenever Jessica wanted something, she turned on all her charm. “What’s your name? I want to know all about you.”

  She observed the uncertainty in his eyes. He’d been calling the shots a moment ago. Yet in the space of seconds, Jessica was now in charge. This creep may have thought he wanted Jessica, but he had a tiger by the tail.

  “Simon,” he whispered.

  “Oh, I just love that name. Simon,” she purred. “It sounds so strong. So masculine. So sexy.” She ran a manicured nail slowly down his chest. He flushed and shuffled uncomfortably.

  Good. She’d hit the right button. She was in Jessic
a’s element. She couldn’t worry about not having a script. Flying by the seat of her pants with some knife-wielding fanatic. She was in full-blown character. Be charming. Stay in control. Keep in the zone.

  Be Jessica.

  She moved into him, away from the wall. She became the aggressor, the one wanting something, the tables turned. He was the nervous one now.

  “I’m glad we ran into one another, Simon. Would you like to get a drink? I’m mad for whiskey sours these days. They make me . . . lose control.”

  “No,” he said unsteadily. He stepped back, but Callie moved right back into his space.

  She placed a hand on his arm. “Then what do you want to do, sugar?” She ran the back of her other hand along his cheek.

  “K-k-kiss you,” he stuttered.

  The thought revolted her, but she realized the hand with the knife had totally gone limp, as if he’d forgotten it was there. Keep going with the flow.

  But without a script, who knew where this train wreck was headed?

  She bit her lip and studied him a moment. It’s not as if they’d start having sex on the street. She’d just suck it up and kiss the bastard. Then somehow she’d get away. Maybe she could knee the creep in the groin to disable him. Or lightning would strike Stupid Simon dead. Really, really dead.

  “We barely know each other, Simon. Don’t you want to go somewhere quiet? Out of the rain. We could talk awhile.”