As he disappeared into the kitchen, she finally slipped off her sunglasses and forced herself across the speckled terrazzo floor to the powder room so she could repair the damage from the paps’ attack.

With her weight loss, her round face had begun collapsing under her cheekbones, and her big eyes would have eaten up her face if her mouth weren’t so wide. She shoved a lock of her stick-straight, cherry-cola hair behind her ear. In an attempt to lift her spirits and soften the new hard edges of her face, she’d adopted a choppy update of a bowl cut, with long, feathery bangs and sides that curved around her cheeks. In her Skip and Scooter days, she’d been forced to keep her dark hair tightly permed and dyed a clownish carrot-orange because the producers wanted to capitalize on her megasuccessful run in the Broadway revival of Annie. That humiliating hairstyle had also emphasized the contrast between her funny-girl appearance and Skip Scofield’s dreamboat good looks.

She’d always had a conflicted relationship with her baby-doll cheeks, googly green eyes, and stretchy mouth. On the one hand, her unconventional features had brought her fame, but in a city like Hollywood, where even the supermarket checkout clerks were bombshells, it had been hard not being beautiful. Not that she cared anymore. But when she’d been the wife of Lance Marks, the town’s biggest action-adventure superstar, she’d definitely cared.

Exhaustion crept through her. She hadn’t taken a dance class in six months-she could barely get out of bed.

She repaired the damage to her eye makeup as best she could, then returned to the living room. Trevor had only recently moved into the house he’d decorated with amoeba-shaped midcentury furniture. He must have been taking a trip down memory lane because a book lay open on the coffee table, a history of the American television sitcom. The original Skip and Scooter cast photo stared back at her. She looked away.

On the deck, white stucco planters filled with tall greenery provided a measure of privacy from any gapers walking the beach. She kicked off her sandals and slumped into an aqua-and-brown-striped chaise. The ocean stretched beyond the white tubular railing. A few surfers had paddled just past the break line, but the sea was too calm today for a decent ride, and their surfboards bobbed on the water like fetuses floating in amniotic fluid.

A surge of pain stole her breath. She and Lance had been the fairy-tale couple. He was the macho prince who’d seen through her ugly-duckling exterior to the beautiful soul beneath. She was the adoring wife who’d given him the steadfast love he needed. During their two-year courtship and one-year marriage, the tabloids had followed them everywhere, but she still hadn’t been prepared for the frenzy that had erupted when Lance had left her for Jade Gentry.

In private, she lay in bed, barely able to move. In public, she kept a smile plastered on her face. But no matter how high she held her head, the pity stories only grew worse.

The tabloids screamed:

Brave Georgie’s Heartbreak

Valiant Georgie Suicidal as Lance Declares, “I never knew real love until I met Jade Gentry”

Georgie Wasting Away! Friends Fear for Her Life

Even though Lance had a much more successful film career, she was still Scooter Brown, America’s sweetheart, and the tide of public sentiment turned against him for abandoning such a beloved television icon. Lance launched his own counterattack. “Unnamed sources say that Lance desperately wanted children, but Georgie was too busy with her career to take time out for a family.”

She’d never forgive him for that lie.

Trevor came out on the deck balancing a white leather tray with margarita glasses and a matching pitcher. He gallantly ignored the tears trickling from beneath her sunglasses. “The bar is officially open.”

“Thanks, pal.” She took the frosty margarita from him and swiped at her cheeks as he turned away to set the tray on the white patio table. She couldn’t talk to him about the sonogram. Even her best friends didn’t realize how much having a baby meant to her. That pain had been a secret one. A secret today’s photos would expose to the world.

“We wrapped Cake Walk last Friday,” she said. “Another bomb.” She couldn’t afford three box-office flops in a row, and that’s what she’d have once Cake Walk was released. She set her drink on the deck without tasting it. “Dad’s really upset about this six-month vacation I’m taking.”

He sank into a molded plastic tulip chair. “You’ve been working practically since you came out of the womb. Paul needs to cut you some slack.”

“Yeah, that’ll happen all right.”

“You know the way I feel about how he pushes you. I’m not saying another word.”

“Don’t.” She was already too familiar with Trev’s generally accurate opinion of her difficult relationship with her father. She wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them tight to her stomach. “Divert me with some good gossip.”

“My costar gets crazier every day. If I even think about doing another film with that woman, kill me.” He adjusted his chair so his shaved head was in the shade. “Did you know she and Bram used to date?”

Her stomach clenched. “Birds of a feather.”

“He’s house-sitting-”

She held up her hand. “Stop. I can’t talk about Bramwell Shepard. Especially not today.” Bram would have watched her get trampled to death this afternoon and never lost the smile on his face. God, she hated him, even after all these years.

Trev mercifully changed the subject without questioning her. “You saw last week’s USA Today poll, right? Favorite sitcom heroines? Scooter Brown came in third after Lucy and Mary Tyler Moore. You even beat out Barbara Eden.”

She’d seen the poll and couldn’t bring herself to care. “I hate Scooter Brown.”

“You’re the only one who does. She’s an icon. It’s anti-American not to love her.”

“The series has been off the air for eight years. Why can’t everybody let it go?”

“Maybe those perpetual reruns blasting out all over the globe have something to do with it?”

She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head. “I was a kid when the show started, only fifteen. And barely twenty-three when it ended.”

He took in her red eyes but didn’t comment on them. “Scooter Brown is ageless. Every woman’s best friend. Every man’s favorite virgin.”

“But I’m not Scooter Brown. I’m Georgie York. My life belongs to me, not to the world.”

“Good luck with that.”

She couldn’t let herself do this any longer. Perpetually reacting to external forces. Unable to set her own counterforces in motion. Always acted upon. Never acting. She drew her knees closer and studied the rainbows she’d asked her manicurist to paint on her toenails in the vain hope of cheering herself up. If she didn’t do this now, she never would. “Trev, what would you think about you and me having a little-a big romance?”

“Romance?”

“The two of us.” She couldn’t look at him, and she kept her eyes on the rainbows. “Falling very publicly in love. And…maybe-” She pushed out the words. “Trev, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time…I know you’re going to think it’s crazy. It is crazy. But…If you don’t hate the idea, I was thinking…we should at least consider the possibility of…getting married.”

“Married?” Trevor’s feet hit the deck.

He was one of her dearest friends, but her cheeks burned. Still, what was one more monumentally humiliating moment in a year filled with them? She unlocked her arms from her knees. “I know I shouldn’t be dumping this on you out of nowhere. And I know it’s weird. Really weird. I felt that way when I first started thinking about it, but when I considered it objectively, I couldn’t see a big downside.”

“Georgie, I’m gay.”

“You’re rumored to be gay.”

“I’m also really gay.”

“But you’re so deep in the closet hardly anybody knows.” The fresh scrape on her ankle stung as she eased her legs over the side of the chaise. “This would finally put an end to the rumors. Face it, Trev. If the frat-boy crowd ever finds out you’re playing for their team, your career is gone.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” He rubbed his hand over his shaved head. “Georgie, your life is a circus, and as much as I adore you, I don’t want to be dragged into the center ring.”

“That’s the point. If you and I were together, the circus would stop.” As he sat back down, she went to his side and knelt there. “Trev, just think about it. We’ve always gotten along. We’d be able to live our lives the way we want-without any interference from each other. Think about how much more freedom you’d have-we’d both have.” She rested her cheek against his knee, just for a moment, then sat back on her heels. “You and I aren’t an odd couple like Lance and I were. Trevor and Georgie are a boring match, and after the first couple of months, the press will leave us alone. We could live under the radar. You wouldn’t need to keep going out with all those women you have to pretend to be interested in. You could see who you wanted. Our marriage would be the perfect cover for you.” And for her, it would be a way to make the world stop its pity party. She’d have both her public dignity back and a kind of insurance policy to keep her from ever again throwing herself off an emotional cliff for a man.

“Think about it, Trev. Please.” She needed to let him get used to the idea before she mentioned children. “Think how liberating it would be.”

“I’m not marrying you.”

“Me either.” A horrifyingly familiar voice drifted across the deck. “I’d rather stop drinking.”