'No way!' Daisy exploded. 'You want me to share with the whole country the fact that I can't catch a man?'
'It's a great idea!' Elise chimed in. 'You'd probably get hundreds of men mailing in their marriage proposals. You could pick and choose among them.'
Daisy shuddered. 'No, it's not even open for discussion.'
Phoebe and Elise looked at each other and shrugged.
When the three women returned from dinner, the doorman stopped Phoebe and took her aside. 'There's someone here to see you. She wanted me to let her in your apartment, but of course I didn't, not without your say- so.'
'Thanks, Griffin.' That was one of the things she loved about Mesa Blue-the security. As a TV actress, she'd had her share of weird letters and obsessive fans, though no one had bothered her in a while.
After waving goodbye to Daisy and Elise, she peered into the lobby's sitting area, at first not seeing anyone. Then a figure popped out from behind a column, and Phoebe almost fainted. 'Mama!'
'Addy!' Olga Phelps rushed forward, enveloping a dazed Phoebe in a bear hug. After only a moment's hesitation, Phoebe returned the hug. She hadn't been home to visit since last summer, and she hadn't realized how much she missed her mother until this moment.
'Mama, what are you doing here? You look great!'
'I've lost a little weight, got a new haircut. My stylist says it makes me look ten years younger.'
Phoebe sighed. Her mother was always looking for a magic youth potion. She did look great for her age, Phoebe had to admit. She was fifty, but no one would guess it.
'Come on,' Phoebe said, hoisting one of Olga's bulging flowered suitcases. 'Let's go up and get you settled in. How long can you stay? I'm afraid I won't be home very much…' She kept peppering her mother with questions as they headed for the elevator.
Olga informed her she would be staying through Tuesday, which meant five days. Phoebe could handle it, she decided. Her new job, with its shorter, more regular hours, had helped her to get control of her schedule. And she had no major tests or projects due for at least a week.
'Why didn't you let me know you were coming?' Phoebe scolded as they entered her apartment and switched on a light
'It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.' Olga looked around the apartment eagerly. 'Oh, I like what you've done. But white furniture? Doesn't it get dirty?'
'I'm hardly home enough to get anything dirty.'
'You just need one more thing to complete the decor.' Olga put her suitcase on the sofa, opened it and pulled something out that was wrapped in newspaper.
When she unwrapped it, Phoebe smiled with pleasure. 'A wreath.'
And not just any wreath. It was made of movie film, artfully twisted and shaped so that it appeared to be a living thing. And all over the wreath were little symbols relevant to Phoebe's acting career-a tiny television; a copy of Phoebe's publicity photo shrunk down to less than an inch and put in a gold frame; Barbie-size ballet slippers; a minuscule Oscar statuette. There was even an itty-bitty movie slate with the words 'Skin Deep' hand-painted in incredibly small letters.
'An early birthday present,' Olga said.
Phoebe found a hammer and nails and proceeded to hang the wreath on her door right then and there. Her gaze strayed now and then toward Wyatt's door, hoping he wouldn't choose now to come home. The idea of Olga meeting Wyatt was kind of scary.
It took a few moments to figure out why. Wyatt was actually closer to Olga's age than he was to Phoebe's. And sometimes Olga went for younger men.
Holy cow, could she actually be jealous of her own mother?
'So, what made you decide to visit me so suddenly?' Phoebe asked a few minutes later as she and Olga shared coffee on the balcony.
'Well.' Olga patted her hair and arched her eyebrows imperiously. 'You, my dear, are not the only one who has show business connections. Since you wouldn't use your influence to get me on 'Heads Up,' I got my own self on.'
Phoebe thought maybe she hadn't heard right. 'You're going to be on 'Heads Up'?' she repeated. 'In the audience, you mean?'
'No, as a guest!'
Had Olga gone delusional? 'Doing what?'
'Well, when I was watching the show the other day, they announced they were looking for a certain kind of person to be on the show.'
Phoebe narrowed her eyes. 'What kind of person?'
'They were looking for women who'd been trying to get married for more than five years, without success. For me, it's been more than twenty. So I qualified.'
Phoebe felt the blood draining from her brain.
'I talked to a very nice man,' Olga went on. 'I can't remember his name-'
'Wyatt Madison?' Phoebe knew Wyatt personally talked to every guest before allowing them on the show.
'That's it. Wait, I thought that was your neighbor's name. The grandson?'
'It is,' Phoebe said dully. 'One and the same.'
'Well, how about that. You didn't mention the connection before.'
'It slipped my mind. Mama, are you telling me you're going to be on the show with Jane Jasmine?'
'Uh-huh, on Tuesday. Your Mr. Madison said she claimed she could help
She took a sip of her coffee, looking very smug.
Phoebe was going to kill Wyatt. He probably wasn't home from work yet-she hadn't seen his car in the lot. But when he did get home, she was going to let him know exactly how she felt about his manipulating her mother and giving Olga yet another dose of false hope.
Wyatt was bushed. He'd spent all afternoon in delicate negotiations with an agent, trying to get him to allow his reclusive child-star client to come on the show. Apparently the child's mother was a fan of 'Heads Up.' She liked the way guests were treated on the show. But working out the details had been murder.
Just when he'd been about to head out the door, a technical problem had cropped up that had required Wyatt's special touch. Finally, he'd had to talk the high-strung Kelly through a personal crisis.
Now it was after midnight, late by even his standards. He couldn't wait to find his bed and crawl into it. He was confident that tonight, at least, he would be too tired to lie awake and remember what it had been like to have Phoebe in the bed beside him.
He came off the elevator and turned the corner-and skidded to a stop. Phoebe sat Indian-style in front of his door, arms crossed, looking like she could chew through plywood.
'Well, it's about time,' she said, pushing herself to her feet.
'Is something wrong?'
'No, I was sitting in the hall waiting for you because I just can't get enough of you at work.
'You could have paged me.'
'This conversation needs to take place in person.' Judging from the looks she gave him he might need a crash helmet for this conversation. What had he done wrong now?
He stuck his key in the door, and she followed him inside.
'Would you like to come in?'
