Born To Be Wild

THIRTY-THREE

Dallas and Dynasty were the first American serials to be successfully marketed internationally.

On Saturday morning, a cup of high-octane Kona coffee in one hand, Mary Lisa opened her front door to an unexpected visitor.

“Hello, Mary Lisa. I’m glad you’re home, but hey, you don’t leave home alone anymore, do you? Is Lou Lou still sleeping over, or is that tough-looking son of a bitch I saw you with yesterday spending his nights here?”

“Tough-looking? Yes, okay, I’ll give him that, though Jack Wolf has more a brooding in-your-face bad-boy look if you ask me.”

“Jack Wolf? Come on, that’s a stage name. I’ll bet he’s got a real name like Be

“Hmmm. Never thought of that, I’ll freely admit it. I’ll ask him.” Mary Lisa smiled at Margie McCormick, who played her half sister, Susan Cavendish, on Born to Be Wild. Margie stood at her front door looking thin, blond, and gorgeous, dressed in tight hip-bone jeans and a brief stretch top. Mary Lisa had no trouble at all picturing Margie talking her way past Chad at the Colony kiosk.

There was no smile on Margie’s face. Oh dear. What was wrong with her? “Nice to see you, Margie. What can I do for you on this beautiful Saturday morning? Come in, come in.” She stepped back.

Margie said, “I don’t suppose the cops have found the guy who ran you over yet?”

“Nope, nothing yet.”

They walked into Mary Lisa’s house together, where Margie had visited many times before, right to her favorite chair, a high wingback covered in a bright multicolored South Seas print. She sat down, crossed her legs.

Margie said, “I don’t suppose the cops have found Puker Hodges yet?”

“No, still no word, still no leads as to where he was taken or who nabbed him.”

“Most people think old Puker’s sold his last photo to the fanzines, that he’s in a drainage ditch somewhere.”

“As much as I’ve wanted to hit him in the chops over the past months, I hope he isn’t dead. It’s true there was a fight in his apartment, but maybe the guy scared him so much, Puker went into hiding-”

“Oh, get real, Mary Lisa. Where else could he be? In Rio doing a photo spread on beach thongs? Enjoying a taco in Cancun?”

Mary Lisa said slowly, “That would make the guy a real monster, not just a-”

“A what?”

“I don’t know, maybe a minimonster. Margie, can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I see you’re studying your lines for all your scenes on Monday.” Margie pointed over at some script pages on the sofa.

All my scenes? “Are you unhappy about something, Margie?”

Margie jumped up, began pacing the living room. Then she whirled about and said, “I’ve always been honest with you, Mary Lisa, and I’ve come to say I can’t believe you talked Bernie out of the revenge plot!”

Mary Lisa cocked her head to one side. “I don’t understand. You agreed with me that Sunday wouldn’t sleep with her half sister’s husband, you rolled your eyes at where the writers were headed. Betsy agreed too. She said no matter what Sunday’s mother and half sister had done, Sunday would never sleep with Damian.”

“You’re trying to pretend Sunday always has reasonable motives for her behavior? That we all think things through before we act? You know very well that we have to do things that most normal people would think insane. For God’s sake, Mary Lisa, it’s a soap opera! It doesn’t have to make perfect sense as long as it’s entertaining, you know that. If the writers have a bad day, so do we all. Sunday sleeping with Damian? Why not? It’s a meaty plotline, and both Jeff and I would have been right up front, right in the thick of it in a major way for at least three months! The possibilities were endless, and the writers would have hit them all!

“But instead you bitched and moaned until you got your way and turned everything on its head. What did you do, Mary Lisa? Threaten to walk? To go over to General Hospital? And so Bernie had to come up with a long-missing TV evangelist father for his little princess? Now we’re out of it, do you hear me? I’m out of it. You happy now?”

Mary Lisa slowly set down her coffee. “I see,” she said quietly. “I thought we were friends, Margie, but I guess that’s not true. All you just said, I hadn’t realized how you felt, I really hadn’t, but now I do. You thought I stabbed you in the back. On purpose. Jeff too, right?”

“Jeff hasn’t said much, so who knows?”

Mary Lisa waved that away. “You’re saying I did this because I wanted more face time? And on my terms? Fact is, if you’d think about it for a minute, you’d realize that I’d have been featured as much sleeping with Damian as I will be now dealing with my long-lost father.”

“None of us is stupid, Mary Lisa. We all know you’re the lead on Born to Be Wild, and we’re all very lucky everyone loves you so much. Even my own real mother knows and accepts that; in fact, she loves you too. We all accept it.

“But the revenge plot was my chance to share some of that with you. I’d have been woven right in, right in the middle of it-the wife betrayed by both her husband and her half sister. I was so ready! But it won’t happen now, not anymore. I’ll be lucky to have three scenes a bloody week. You betrayed me, Mary Lisa, big time.”

Margie McCormick jumped up and ran out of the house, slamming the door behind her. Mary Lisa stood stock-still, listening as Margie gu

“Well, hello, Hollywood.”

She turned to see Jack Wolf walk into the living room from the kitchen.

She wasn’t surprised he was here, in her house. She didn’t think she could be surprised by anything now. “What a mess. Do you know I never even realized, never even considered Margie or Jeff when I bitched and whined about the plotline? I thought only of myself. Aren’t I a fine human being?”

He picked up a bright red pillow from her sofa and threw it at her. He threw it hard enough that she almost stumbled back when it hit her in the face.

“That’s my fast pillow, you twit. You should see my curve. You will if you keep playing the pitiful martyr. What I heard was all about her, didn’t you see that? There’s only one Sunday Cavendish, Mary Lisa. Everyone roots for her, they care about what happens to her, can’t wait to see what she does next. And Sunday is you, not Margie. I noticed she’s ski

“You saw me chow down the fish and chips.”

“It was probably your first solid food in two weeks.”

“This is ridiculous.” She threw the pillow back at him, but he snagged it out of the air, tossed it back and forth from his left to his right.

Throwing the stupid pillow reminded her that her muscles still throbbed and ached despite an hour in the hot tub the previous night and as many stretches as she could tolerate. She was sure her bones had grown longer.

“Don’t you dare throw your curve pillow at me.”

“Oh yeah? What would you do if I knocked you right over?”

She gave him an evil smile. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, you bully. I’ll call my sister Kelly and invite her down to stay with me.”

In a flash he had a hunted look. It was so unexpected she laughed and followed through. “Where’s my cell phone? Oh yeah, there it is.” She managed to grab it up off the coffee table.

He grabbed her, lifted her easily off her feet, and took her down on the sofa, sprawled on top of her. He wrestled the cell phone from her hand, tossed it across the living room. “That’s a dirty threat, Mary Lisa.”

He was heavy. She felt every single portion of him. His nose was two inches above hers. She felt his warm breath on her cheek. “Dammit, you are a complete pain in the ass.” He dipped his face down, stared at her mouth, then jerked away from her as if he’d been shot.