Turn Me On

“A night shoot?” Kelly might have worked for Hot Ticket magazine for her day job, but as near as Sabrina could tell, she was never off shift.

“For the Hollywood ghost documentary. We’re going to the Château Mirabelle, where Elaine Chandler overdosed. Supposedly there’s a cold spot in her room and guests who’ve stayed there swear they’ve seen an apparition.”

“Brrr. That’s creepy,” Trish said with a grimace.

“Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts.” Kelly gave her an amused glance.

“I’m not so cynical that I don’t believe there are things out there we don’t understand.”

“Hah. You just pretend to be a cynic. Deep inside, you’re a mushy romantic,” Kelly corrected, pulling her plate forward with relish. “I’m the cynic. Forget about Mr. Right. Me, I’ll settle for Mr. Right Now. It’s a lot less trouble,” she said, eyeing the waiter speculatively. “What I don’t believe, Sabrina, is that you, with your multimillion-dollar trust fund, are playing the working schlep. In your shoes, I’d quit in a minute.”

Trish broke in. “You are so full of it. You’d report for Hot Ticket for free and you know it. Where else would you have official license to poke into things that don’t concern you?”

Kelly ran her tongue around her teeth. “Okay, guilty as charged. But seriously, Sabrina, why work so hard if you don’t have to?”

“You know why. I want to work for myself.”

“So do it. You’ve got the bankroll,” Paige pointed out, patting her mouth with her napkin and setting it on the table.

“That’s my family’s money, not mine. Plus I don’t have the know-how, or at least I didn’t. You know the deal I made with Uncle Gus—I work, he teaches.”

“But you have worked,” Trish protested.

“She’s right, Rina,” Thea said mildly. “You’ve been at this for almost five years. Whatever happened to that idea you were talking about for a cable documentary?”

Should she say something or would she jinx herself? “Funny you should ask,” Sabrina began, a ridiculously broad grin spreading across her face. “I’m just about ready to start shooting.”

A chorus of congratulations erupted around the table.

“What does your family think?” asked Cilla, who knew a thing or two about family legacies, having grown up in her father’s retail empire.

Sabrina slanted her a dry look. “You know what my family thinks,” she said. “That I’ll give it up sooner or later for a party.” She permitted herself a mischievous smile. “Or at least that’s what they’d think if they didn’t know the topic of the documentary. If they did, they might be a little less than thrilled.”

“What is the topic?” Paige asked, curious.

Sabrina pursed her lips. “Kinky sex, of course.”

Kelly hooted. “Tame, Pantolini. Show me a film that’s not about sex.”

“Wait till you see this one,” Sabrina promised, eyes alight with fun. “Sex clubs, exhibitionists in the act, blow job tutorials. Tonight’s my last night working for somebody else. Come tomorrow, I get rolling on True Sex, coming soon to a cable station near you.”

2

SABRINA SAT IN A cast-iron chair on the patio of her Uncle Gus’s Hollywood Hills bungalow, eyes closed and head tipped back in the warm afternoon sunlight. The night shoot had gone smoothly, but the loss of sleep was beginning to catch up with her. That, and anxiety over the bombshell that had been dropped in her lap that morning. She wouldn’t think about it for a few minutes, though. For a few minutes, she’d just relax and not fret about deadlines or logistics.

Or the fact that her director had skipped to a different project.

The sound of the sliding glass door had her raising her head to see Gus step onto the flagstone patio, two glasses of iced tea in his hands. Though he was closing in on the age most people started drawing Social Security, time hadn’t stooped him or stiffened his easy stride. Maybe the years had added a network of lines to his hawk face and silvered the hair that flowed down over his collar, but, if anything, the changes made him appear even more wise, even more filled with the answers.

Answers she currently needed very badly.

He sat, staring at her with a faint smile on his face.

“What?” Sabrina asked.

“I’m just remembering you at your christening, kicking and squalling at the top of your lungs. You’ve grown up nicely.”

Sabrina gave him a tired smile. “Sometimes I don’t feel grown-up at all. At least, not grown-up enough to do everything that needs doing.”

He set a glass in front of her. “If it’s worth doing, it’s rarely easy.”

She nodded.

“How did your meeting with Schuyler go?”

Sabrina took a sip of her tea. “It went well, I think. He likes the concept. I played him on the competition with Spotlight! and he jumped.”

“What did you walk away with?”

“He’s open to it. All we have to do is wow him with the pilot and we’re home free.”

Gus nodded, watching a hummingbird whisk around the feeder that hung from the eaves of the house. “Well, that puts your foot in the door.”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her temples. “Except I just lost my director.”

Gus snapped his head around to stare at her. “I thought he was locked in.”

“He’d done everything but ink the papers,” she said, resisting the urge to begin pacing. “Timing’s everything in this business, you know that. Someone else offered him something he liked better.”

“So what are you going to do, kid?”

Sabrina gave him a wry smile. “I thought you might ask that. I spent the afternoon beating the bushes to find out who’s available and who I could afford.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I called everyone I could think of. No one’s free, at least no one who could do what we need.” She squared her shoulders. “I’ll do some more calling tomorrow. I can’t lose time when I’ve already told Schuyler it’s coming.”

Gus stroked his chin. “Did you try Marcus Amblin?”

Sabrina nodded. “No dice.”

“Petra Krausz?”

“Ditto. And Lloyd Asherton and the Lamonte-Crosby group. Everyone’s got balls in the air,” she finished morosely, rubbing patterns in the condensation on her glass. “Doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen eventually, it’s just that the delay makes me look bad to Schuyler.”

Gus tapped his fingers on the table. “There’s one possibility I can think of,” he said slowly. “Someone who owes me a favor and might be willing to help us out. You’d probably only have him for the pilot, but that’ll buy you some time to find another director for the main series. First things first, after all.”

Sabrina shook her head. “I don’t want you to call in favors on my account. I need to do this myself.”