After the early morning session, Scarlett was released at nine-thirty in the morning with one order—contact every single actor and crew member and make sure they got to Billy’s studio on time. That meant waiting for Spencer to get home from work, which really meant going back to sleep for an hour or so.
The lingering smell of overly strong coffee and burned toast wafted through the lobby as Scarlett entered it. Their father was on his knees in the far corner of the lobby, by the elevator, hammer in hand.
“Some of the boards are coming up again,” he said. “I can’t hammer them down. Oh, well. I’ll do what we always do.”
He pushed one of the canary-yellow chairs across the room to the spot. It didn’t quite fit there, but he seemed content.
“If you have time,” he said, “I could use a hand cleaning up and resetting the Sterling Suite. We have someone coming tonight.”
“Sure,” Scarlett said sleepily. “I’ll do it in a few.”
“Oh, and Lola’s upstairs. I don’t think she’s feeling well.”
Sure enough, Lola was in bed, but she didn’t look sick. She was sitting with her knees tucked up, and she looked more pale than usual.
“I have a problem, Scarlett,” she said.
Scarlett sat down on the edge of her bed and waited. It took Lola a moment to bring herself to speak.
“They told me not to come in today,” she said. “They fired me.”
Scarlett wasn’t about to say “I told you so.” Lola had obviously been chastising herself all morning. She shook her head over and over.
“I’m such an idiot,” she said. “I honestly didn’t think they would. I have one of the best sales records on the floor. I really thought I was fine. I would never have taken the days off otherwise, I swear.”
Scarlett reached over for her hand.
“You don’t need to convince me,” she said. “I know you wouldn’t have.”
“Mom and Dad are already so worried. About the bills, Marlene, Spencer’s career…I can’t believe I let this happen. Especially with Spencer doing this stupid show now. This is such a bad time.”
It didn’t seem necessary to slam Spencer in this, but Scarlett let it go. Lola had truly loved her job. She was good at it.
“You can get another one in a second,” Scarlett said, trying to sound cheerful. “You can tell Mom and Dad you got a better offer.”
Lola took a long, slow breath and wiped at her face.
“You’re right,” she said. “I was thinking it might be better if I worked in a spa. This could be a good opportunity.”
She changed the head move to a nod, to affirm herself.
“I have another favor to ask,” she said. “And I know I already owe you. I’ve decided to go to Boston with Chip this weekend.”
Scarlett contained a groan.
“I know,” Lola said. “This is what caused the problem in the first place. But I have no job now. Let me just do this, and then I promise…”
“You can go wherever you want,” Scarlett said.
“I know, but…there’s a big Powerkids event on Saturday night. A dinner at the Hard Rock Café.”
“Let me guess,” Scarlett said. “You want me to take her.”
“I think that it’s good that you and Marlene…bond more. I mean, I won’t be living at home forever. Neither will Spen…well, Spencer may.”
Scarlett was much more tempted this time to reply to the Spencer-bash, but Lola really did look contrite.
“What are you going to tell Mom and Dad?” she asked.
“That I’m going to Boston to do a weekend intensive on skin care for one of the product lines. You don’t have to worry about a cover story. You don’t have to lie.”
“Fine,” Scarlett said. “But just this time.”
Scarlett tried to sleep, but Lola was still sitting there, palpably fretting and talking to Chip on the phone. She went down the hall to Spencer’s room to sleep on his bed, but he returned soon after.
“You’re going to see someone named Billy Whitehouse,” she mumbled. “Can you call everyone and tell them?”
“Don’t mess with my head,” he said, dropping his bag on the floor. “I’m still nervous after last night.”
“I’m not messing with you,” she said. “You’re going to see some guy named Billy Whitehouse.”
“The Billy Whitehouse?”
“Well, it was a Billy Whitehouse,” she said. “He was in a theater on Broadway.”
Spencer got very agitated and started pacing in the three empty feet of floor space.
“You’re not messing with me?” he asked seriously.
“Why would I make this up? Do you know him?”