Gone With the Nerd Read online

  He hadn't been called a nerd since college. Yeah, he supposed the label still fit, but he'd stopped thinking of it years ago. Was Kristen a nerd, too? Probably, which was why they belonged together. Still, he wasn't entirely happy knowing Zoe's true opinion of him, even if her opinion was pretty much on target with the truth.

  The weekend should prove... intriguing. At least he wouldn't be immersed in some Hollywood pleasure palace, which might have freaked him out. Instead he'd be staying in a place that would feel reasonably familiar if it lived up to its name. It might turn out to be something like the ratty Arizona mining town where he'd grown up.

  Only these days his hometown was a cutesy tourist trap, and his retired father regularly dressed as a gun-slinger and joined his buddies to stage shoot-outs on Main Street for the greenhorns. His mother wore hoop-skirts and ran a bed-and-breakfast. Their Wild West shtick earned them a comfortable living, which was a good thing, because the mine had gone bankrupt and left them with no retirement income.

  Flynn had tried to give them money, but they wouldn't take it. He supposed in their shoes he wouldn't have, either. But their situation was another reason that he was so big on saving money. If he had to stage shoot-outs or run a bed-and-breakfast in order to make it through his golden years, he'd starve to death.

  Zoe reached the car and turned back to him. "Keys?"

  He reached in his pocket, pulled them out, and handed them to her.

  "Thanks for putting up the top. This sun turns the seats into little hot plates. I would have roasted my tush getting back in."

  "No problem." He'd never considered doing anything else. You didn't leave a Porsche sitting at Venice Beach with the top down. Anything could happen. But he supposed not roasting Zoe's tush was also a consideration. The world's male population would likely thank him for protecting Zoe's tush.

  As she beeped open the locks and leaned down toward the passenger door, he got a full view of that valuable fanny and his mouth went dry. He'd better get a grip. Once they were tucked inside that cabin together, he'd be spending a lot more time within touching distance, and he absolutely could not be caught reacting. He'd just told her he was in a relationship, for God's sake. Now he needed to make sure he acted like he was committed to another woman.

  Zoe turned and handed him the script she'd picked up from the seat of the car. "Here you go. I'll try to glance through it before we get there, but I might not have time. You might not, either."

  Flynn looked at the title page. "'The Billion-Dollar Pill. What's it about?"

  "I read the treatment. She's working on a drug that combines weight loss, antiaging, and sexual performance in one pill."

  "Whoa."

  "Yeah, it's kind of a spoof. I need to be an over-the-top nerd. Anyway, the company she's working for thinks she might sell out to a competitor, so they hire a bodyguard, supposedly to protect her but really to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn't try to smuggle the formula."

  "Interesting." And he'd be reading the part of the bodyguard, no doubt. "Is she going to smuggle it?"

  "No, she's very ethical and she's insulted by the surveillance. Plus, she thinks the bodyguard might be a double agent trying to steal the formula. Then they become lovers, which complicates the whole thing."

  He wondered what kind of scenes she'd want to read aloud. Probably not a love scene. If she picked a love scene, he was in serious trouble, but she wouldn't pick a love scene.

  They'd probably read an opening scene, not a love scene. She wouldn't expect him to get into that mushy stuff. "Sounds like a good story," he said.

  "It's my ticket, Flynn. I feel it in my bones." Her enthusiasm for this career move was contagious.

  "I think you're right." Maybe at first he'd been insulted by her request for geek tutoring, but that had worn off. Now he felt damned good knowing that she'd turned to him. Beginning Friday night, he vowed to be all the nerd she needed.

  Chapter Three

  Flynn didn't have a chance to look at the script again until he was on the plane to Sacramento. The first scene opened with Vera Parsons working late at night in her lab as her bodyguard Tony Bennetti showed up for the first time. Flynn tried to picture himself reading it with Zoe.

  TONY

  I'm Bennetti. I guess Peterson told you I was coming.

  VERA

  He told me. And it's a total waste of company funds and your time.

  TONY

  Looks to me like you need babysitting. The door was unlocked. I could have been anybody.

  VERA

  I was expecting you. But you bring up a valid point. You could still be anybody.

  Tony looks her over with an obvious male appraisal. TONY

  Yeah. Maybe I'm some weird guy who gets turned on by flat-chested women wearing white lab coats and sensible oxfords. Maybe all I can think about is throwing you down on that table and steaming up your wire-rimmed glasses.

  VERA

  See this beaker of liquid? One flick of my wrist and you'll be needing a genital transplant.

  TONY

  No shit?

  VERA

  No shit. Now go sit somewhere where I can't see you, hear you, or even smell you. I have work to do.

  Flynn stared at the page. He was very afraid this movie was all about sex. And Zoe wanted him to do a read-through with her. Closing the cover of the script, he stared out the window of the plane at the fading afternoon light. He'd told Kristen this was strictly a business trip. Which it was. So how come he already felt guilty as hell?

  Probably because Kristen trusted him so completely. That would be his buddy Josh's doing. A year ago, before Flynn and Kristen had never met, Josh had, been doing the matchmaker thing. Flynn guessed that Josh was still at it, telling Kristen that she'd latched onto a paragon. Flynn hated to think what Josh would make of this weekend, if he knew.

  Zoe flew first class and bought herself two seats for the privacy. So maybe it wasn't the nerd thing to do, but she didn't want to carry this transformation too far. With two seats to herself, she didn't have to worry about a nosy neighbor and she had a chance, finally, to start reading the script.

  As she scanned the first scene, she started to laugh. The flat-chested part would be hard to pull off, but she'd packed an Ace bandage and would practice binding her boobs. She'd special-ordered some glasses with clear lenses, and luckily they were wire frames.

  She flipped to the second scene, which took place in Vera's apartment after she and Tony had left the lab.

  TONY

  Someone followed you home.

  VERA

  It was you, and you were tailgating.

  TONY

  I stayed close so that the car tailing you couldn't get between us.

  VERA

  It was probably one of my neighbors coming home from the convenience store, but you have to turn it into a stalking incident to justify your existence.

  TONY

  Suit yourself.

  VERA

  Tomorrow I'm calling Peterson. Either he gets rid of you or I'll go on strike. I can't live like this, being shadowed at every turn.

  TONY

  I was completely quiet while you were working.

  VERA

  You were not. I could hear you breathing.

  TONY

  Not used to hearing a real man breathe, are you, babe?

  VERA

  I'm going to bed.

  Vera walks toward her bedroom.

  TONY

  Since that didn't sound much like an invitation—

  VERA

  It most certainly wasn't!

  TONY

  Where am I supposed to sleep?

  Tony hoists his duffel bag over his shoulder.

  VERA

  That's not my problem.

  Vera walks into her bedroom, cries out, and backs into the living room. Tony draws his gun and moves into a crouch.

  TONY

  What is it?

  VERA

  Someone's
... someone's been in there. Vera glances at him in horror. You have a gun?

  TONY

  The better to shoot the bad guys, little girl. Now stand back and let me do my job.

  Zoe closed the script with a smile. A flat-chested chemistry professor with an attitude. For the first time in years, Zoe was excited about a part. And her preparation would begin now.

  Taking her carry-on from the seat beside her, she headed for the bathroom. She was Superman, ducking into a phone booth. But halfway through her quick-change act, stripped to her underwear, she wondered what she'd been thinking. The plan had sounded logical when she'd described it to Flynn. She'd pictured airplane bathrooms as being bigger.

  Maybe they used to be bigger, before deregulation. After all, what about the Mile-High Club? That involved two people doing something very aerobic in here. She glanced around. No way. Two midgets, maybe, but if Flynn happened to be standing there, they'd never in a million years be able to—

  Holy crap, where had that thought come from? The script must have started her thinking about sex, and of course Flynn would be reading the part of Tony, so that explained why a picture of Flynn in the airplane bathroom with her had surfaced. And thoughts weren't deeds, or something to that effect.

  Someone tapped on the bathroom door. "Ms. Tarleton? Are you okay?"

  Cripes. Naturally they'd be worried about her. Movie stars were probably considered loose cannons, capable of all sorts of weirdness. The airlines might have banned smoking in the bathrooms, but that left snorting a few lines of coke or swallowing a handful of happy pills.

  "I'm fine!" she called through the door. "Be out in a sec."

  She was aware of the flight attendant standing right outside the door, listening. Because Zoe tried so hard to be quiet putting on the beige polyester pantsuit, she fell down. Well, not all the way down, which was impossible in the minuscule space, but she banged around a lot.

  "Ms. Tarleton?" The flight attendant sounded very worried now.

  "Ha. ha," Zoe said. "Dropped my bowling ball."

  "Your bowling ball?'

  Zoe unfastened the latch and stepped out, nearly colliding with the flight attendant, who seemed to have no sense of humor whatsoever. "That was a joke. I decided to change clothes and that was the only place to do it."

  "Oh." The flight attendant gave her a once-over. "Nice . . . uh . . . outfit."

  "Thanks." Holding her carry-on in one hand, Zoe straightened her jacket with the other. She'd bought the outfit at a resale shop and it was two sizes too big for her. She'd had to cinch up the waist of the pants with a safety pin. Instead of her cute little pointy-toed shoes, she now wore crepe-soled lace-ups, only they weren't laced up. Some things could not be accomplished in an airplane bathroom.

  Trailing her shoelaces, she made it back to her seat and managed to finish the job by turning sideways and propping her feet on the empty seat beside her. When she noticed the flight attendant still staring with her mouth open, she gave her a big smile. "Ah, now I can be comfortable again."

  The attendant closed her mouth. "Right. It must be tough maintaining that image all the time." Then she bustled away.

  No, it was this image that would be tough to maintain. Zoe hadn't felt so frumpy since fourth grade when she'd been forced to wear her cousin's hand-me-downs. Soon after that Zoe had started babysitting to earn money for her own clothes. She'd looked good ever since, if she did say so herself.

  But this weekend wasn't about looking good. She had to keep reminding herself of that, especially because she would be not looking good in front of a guy. That really chafed. Maybe she had no romantic designs on Flynn, but greeting him while wearing this pantsuit would not be easy on her ego.

  Then she thought of something. What if Flynn liked her better in these nerdy clothes? After all he'd told her two days ago that clothes didn't matter to him. That meant he wouldn't care what she wore, might not even notice that this outfit bagged in all the wrong places. Considering that, she felt relieved.

  Taking a mirror from her purse, she did her best to check her outfit, although she could only see parts of herself, not the whole presentation. The clothes were okay, but she needed to do something different with her hair. A bun would be good, but she'd never accomplish that with all the layers. A ponytail might be possible.

  Pushing the button located above her head, she summoned the still-wary flight attendant. "Do you have a rubber band anywhere? I'd like to put my hair in a ponytail." Philippe would kill her for subjecting his oh-so-artistic and expensive cut to the tortures of a rubber band, but tough times called for tough measures.

  The flight attendant looked at Zoe as if she'd landed from Mars. "Uh, let me see what I can find." Soon she returned holding a handful of twist ties. "This was the best I could do."

  "That's great, thanks." Zoe took the twist ties, put two together, and managed to get most of her hair into the pony-tail. Twist ties might be even better, more geeky, as if she cared so little how she looked that she'd put her hair up with the same things she'd used to hold her sandwich bag closed.

  As the plane touched down she tissued off most of her makeup and pulled her clear-lens glasses out of her purse. One last look in the mirror convinced her that she'd never looked this ridiculous, not even in fourth grade. Nobody would guess she was a world-famous movie star, and that was exactly what she was after.

  She exited the plane, walked the length of the terminal, and even retrieved her luggage without a single person stopping her for an autograph. It felt strange. In one way being anonymous was liberating, but in another way she missed being recognized. Perhaps she was more addicted to fame than she cared to admit.

  Margo had wanted to meet her in the terminal, but Zoe had thought getting picked up right outside Baggage Claim would be less obvious and allow her a quick getaway in case someone noticed who she was. Except no one did notice. She hadn't realized how critical clothes, hair, and makeup were to her star image. That was humbling.

  Pulling her rolling suitcase behind her, she stepped out of the terminal and looked for Margo's green Taurus. Zoe had been thinking your ordinary factory green, but when a car arrived with a paint job no factory would ever offer, Zoe knew in her bones Margo was behind the wheel. Apparently Margo still loved the neons.

  Zoe put on a big smile and waved as if she'd just spotted her limo arriving. Who cared if Margo had decided to paint her old car the color of a glow stick? Zoe was determined to concentrate on the friendship, not the trappings.

  She wished they'd been closer in high school. If she'd known Margo better back then, she would never have accepted Rob's invitation to the prom without checking with Margo first. But Rob had been on Zoe's dream list all through high school, and how was she to know he was a liar when he swore Margo had dumped him! The jerk.

  When the fifteenth high school reunion notice had arrived at the studio, Zoe had seen Margo's name as committee chair. The guilt pangs had been as sharp as if the prom had happened yesterday. Zoe hadn't meant to steal Margo's boyfriend, but she'd been the reason Margo had missed her senior prom. Zoe wasn't about to attend the reunion, but she'd gotten in touch with Margo anyway. And Margo, forgiving person that she was, didn't hold a grudge about Rob and the prom. She'd moved on and was engaged to a great guy. Zoe looked forward to meeting him.

  Reminiscing with Margo for the past several months had been fun. Zoe hadn't kept track of any of her high school friends, and once she'd moved her folks to LA, no one had an easy way to contact her. Margo was a blast from the past, a chance to feel seventeen again.

  Margo tooted the horn and swerved over against the curb. Leaping from the car, she pranced around to the sidewalk in pink UGG boots. Although Margo's makeup was perfect as always, Zoe worked to hide her shock at what fifteen years and at least fifty extra pounds had done to the Margo she remembered.

  Her former classmate sported an eighties perm, a pink vinyl mini, a tight silver blouse, and a rainbow of plastic bangle bracelets. She would have ma
de Abba proud. "Zoe!" She hugged her fiercely. "Are those your nerd clothes? Awesome!"

  Zoe hugged back. So what if Margo had put on some weight? Zoe understood the battle of the bulge after a girl turned thirty. If not for her personal trainer and a cook who could do wonders with a low-carb menu, she'd be a balloon in no time herself.

  No doubt working in a diner put Margo constantly in the path of greasy, fattening food. Zoe was lucky enough to be in a different place. Besides, appearance was unimportant between friends. Margo had a big heart and loved reliving old times. Zoe cherished that.

  "Let me get your suitcase." Margo grabbed Zoe's rolling bag. opened the back door of the car, and heaved the suitcase onto the seat.

  "Hey, I could have done that."

  "Absolutely not." Margo slammed the door and grinned at her. "You're the star!"

  Zoe put her finger to her lips. "Shhh."

  "Oh, right. Sorry about that. But I doubt that anybody heard me. I'm just so excited to see you again that I forgot for a minute that you're trying to stay anonymous."

  "No problem." Zoe smiled back at her. "I'm probably being paranoid."

  "We'll vamoose outta here, and then it won't matter." Margo yanked open the passenger door, which creaked on its hinges. "Climb into my chariot. I just got her painted last week, in your honor. She's showing her age, but what with saving for the wedding, I can't afford a new car."

  "Good grief, Margo, you didn't have to get your car painted just for me,"

  "You coming was a good excuse. Don't you love the color?"

  "It really pops." Zoe sat on the lavender terry-cloth scat covers and reminded herself that this car would add to her disguise. "Speaking of the wedding, how is Bob?"

  "Oh, the same sweetie as always. He's so excited to meet you, but he's on shift work this weekend, so we'll have to see how it goes."