had given up trying to keep track of them all. No one had expected her to outlive her husband, but Jacob Gunderson had died of a stroke while harvesting last year’s crop of corn.
Ever since the funeral, Eunice had been growing more and more determined to get the message across that, unless Callie had a very good reason for staying in New York, she ought to be at home bailing out that failing farm and taking care of Mama. The loss of her job and the failure of her marriage were a pretty good indication that she was washed up in the big city, according to Eunice.
Although she loved her mother and felt bad about her plight, she shuddered at the thought of going home, then dismissed it for now. She’d find work sooner or later. In the meantime, she was more interested in dinner.
She sighed heavily when her search of the refrigerator revealed nothing more than a spotty banana and a suspiciously green chunk of what must once have been cheese.
When she glanced up, she discovered Terry regarding her speculatively. “What?”
“I have just had a very bizarre thought.”
“What else is new? Your thought process should be analyzed by some government grant,” Callie observed. She eyed him hopefully. “Did you bring chicken soup, by any chance?”
“No, you’re not sick. You’re depressed.”
“You used to bring chicken soup.”
“I used to bring gin, too, but then I saw how maudlin it made you,” he retorted. “If you mope around much longer, you can forget about little dabs of Preparation H. The best pancake makeup in the business won’t hide those puffy circles under your eyes.”
Callie frowned. “Is that supposed to upset me?”
“It would if you were thinking what I’m thinking.”
“I’m thinking we ought to order in Chinese.”
Terry shook his head. “Too much water retention. We’ll go out for a nice, healthy salad as soon as Neil gets home,” he suggested, referring to his live-in companion. “But that wasn’t what I was thinking. I was thinking that you could very well be the woman who has all the actresses feeling so threatened.”
Callie froze at the suggestion. She stopped rummaging around in her nearly bare cupboards to stare at him. Surely she couldn’t have heard him correctly. “Me?” she said eventually.
“Don’t look so shocked. Word is that the woman Jason Kane is so hot to sign had a bit part on the show that aired a week ago. It just occurred to me. That fits you, dearie. I’m sure of it.”
Callie had pretty much blocked the memory. The walk-on had been Terry’s bright idea, another of his maddening attempts to get her out of her apartment and back into life. Stumbling from four decorator-designed rooms on the Upper West Side onto a soundstage filled with set-designed rooms in the fictional town of Glen River Falls hadn’t struck her as a giant leap back into reality, but it had made Terry happy.
It had also killed ten hours that otherwise would have been spent bemoaning her fate and considering whether murder was too good for her ex-husband and her ex-boss.
The possibility that anyone had noticed her on-screen seemed completely ludicrous. Even Eunice claimed she’d blinked and missed it.
It hadn’t exactly been a star-making role. Callie had walked from one corner of the dreary police headquarters set to the other. She had accomplished it without falling on her face or tripping over a cable. She had paused on cue and given one long, lingering look toward the camera, a look that supposedly conveyed all sorts of dire portent. Aside from shoving Terry out of the way of an unscripted falling file cabinet, that was it. The sum total of her acting experience, now and forever, amen. She had every intention of keeping it that way.
“You’re delusional,” she said just as the phone rang. “Work on getting back to reality while I grab this.”
Five minutes later, head spinning, she hung up and stared at Terry.
“What is it, dollface? You’re white as a sheet. Was it bad news? Did something happen on the farm?” He pushed her none too gently onto a chair. “Head down. Don’t faint on me, please. As cute as some of those paramedics are, I really hate to cause a commotion by calling 9-1-1.”
He hunkered down in front of her, hands on her thighs. “Callie, sweetie, are you okay? Talk to me.”
“You...” Hysteria bubbled up in her throat. “You were right.”
“Well, hallelujah! The girl finally sees what a genius I am!” He gave her a puzzled look. “Right about what?”
“It appears that Within Our Reach wants to hire me back.”
“There now, see? I told you so,” he exulted. “For another walk-on?”
Still dazed by the obscenely generous offer that had been rattled off, Callie could only shake her head.
“Recurring status?”
Apparently not even the ever-optimistic, ever-supportive Terry had bought that stuff about her being a femme fatale. Boy, was he in for a surprise.
“On contract,” she said in a squeaky voice that would have made the producer who’d given her the news shudder. She gazed at Terry in total bewilderment. “It seems they want to make me a star.”
“What do you mean she said no?” Jason Kane shouted at Freddie Cramer, who’d opted for a very sober navy suit to deliver his bad news. “What kind of actress says no to a chance to become a television star overnight?”
Freddie swallowed hard but didn’t back up so much as an inch. “She’s not an actress.”
“Then what the devil was she doing in the middle of our soap?”
“It’s a long story. At least, she says it’s a long story,” he added in a rush. “She wouldn’t explain to the producer. She wouldn’t explain to me. In fact, she hung up on me. Twice.” He sounded stunned and a little hurt by her audacity.
Jason felt his blood begin to pump a little faster. The producers at Within Our Reach, despite their admirable award-winning track records, were wimps. He knew that firsthand. They’d been so busy bowing and scraping the last time he’d visited the set, it was a wonder they hadn’t tripped over their own feet.
Freddie was made of tougher stuff, but he was at heart a gentleman. If a lady slammed a phone down in his ear, he would take that as a final answer.
Jason was not so easily intimidated. He had learned long ago to fight fiercely for what he wanted. Nothing had ever come easily. He actually thrived on hard, demanding work. Resigned that this was going to be up to him, he held out his hand.
“Give me the address and the phone number for this—what did you say her name is?”
“Calliope Jane Gunderson Smith, according to the call sheet they finally found for that day’s taping.”
“My
