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  Shep was in his early seventies and happily retired. He’d owned a pet store in New Jersey, which meant Madeline could never visit him at the office. Some people thought that was his intent. Mad’s allergies precluded any pets from being brought home, so Danny used to go to the pet store after school to play with the dogs and cats that were on sale. Sometimes Danny blamed his inability to form a permanent relationship on the fact that animals he had loved were there one day and gone the next. The two shrinks he had confided this to had basically told him to get a life.

  But they all loved each other, thank God.

  “We’ve all had a few bumps along the way,” Mad would say to anyone who would listen. “But we get through.”

  The Madleys’ daughter, Regina, was very different from her parents and brother. Not only wasn’t she interested in reality shows, but she didn’t own a television. She taught biology at a prep school in Maine and spent all her days off in the laboratory doing research or tending to her garden. The bright lights of Broadway didn’t interest her at all, a fact that constantly dismayed her mother. But her not caring at all about jewelry was even worse! Regina had always been her own person. It was Danny who inherited his mother’s love for offbeat living.

  But they all loved each other, thank God.

  When Danny called his mother to tell her that there were a few problems with his show and that Regan Reilly was going to work for him for the rest of the shoot, she was thrilled. She remembered the Reilly family fondly. Years ago the grammar school parents had put on a show to raise money, and Mad had been in a skit that Nora wrote. Mad read all of Nora’s books. She was disappointed to learn from Danny that Regan had a boyfriend; she had secretly hoped that being with Danny in Vegas would spark something between them. Who was this guy Regan was with anyway? she wondered. He couldn’t be as interesting as Danny.

  Shep and Maddy were hoping Danny’s new reality show would bring him success and the opportunity to settle down. It never occurred to them that their eccentricities might have had an influence on his lifestyle choices.

  In her beige bedroom in the condo, Mad put on her swimsuit and patted her tummy as she looked in the mirror. “Keep going with the situps, girl,” she said aloud. “Fighting nature ain’t easy.”

  The phone rang. Mad took one final approving glance, walked across the beige carpeting, and sat down on the beige beanbag chair next to the bed. The water bed was too much trouble to get up and down from if this was a short conversation.

  She hurriedly lifted the receiver, always wanting to sound on the run. “Hello.”

  “Mad?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s me. Jacqueline De Tour.”

  Mad smiled. Jacqueline was in her bridge club and was a bigger busybody than Mad was. She couldn’t wait to hear whose misfortune Jacqueline was about to unload.

  “You know my son Alfie is a computer whiz,” Jacqueline began.

  Here we go, Madeline thought. “Yes, that’s wonderful.”

  “Well, he was surfing the net, as they say, just a little while ago. I said to him, ‘Why don’t you look up Danny Madley’s show? See what they’re saying about it.’ ”

  “Yes?” Madeline replied somewhat nervously.

  “Boy, those contestants of his sound like a bunch of deadbeats. You must be so disappointed. I mean, after all, you’d been so happy that this was working out for Danny and—”

  “Jacqueline, I have an appointment I must run to,” Mad Madeline announced firmly. “Talk to you soon.” She hung up the phone, her heart racing. She jumped up like a shot from the beanbag chair and ran to the den where Shep was reading the paper.

  “Shep, Danny needs us.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s having problems with the show. I think we should head up to Las Vegas in his hour of need.”

  Shep looked at her quizzically. “I don’t know whether he’d appreciate our company at this time. I mean he’s busy and…”

  But Madeline had already dashed out of the room.

  Shep stood and looked at the map on the wall. Las Vegas had a green dot on it. Why do I think that pretty soon there will be a red one on top if it? he wondered.

  7

  B ubbles Ferndale was at her wit’s end. She was seated at the head of a long conference table in the sitcom’s studio of Roscoe Parker’s television headquarters. Her writers and actors were reading the pilot script they would be taping Friday morning. The script wasn’t so bad, but one of the actors who had been cast couldn’t have gotten a laugh out of a hyena. Parky, as Bubbles called the studio head, had insisted on casting the actors himself. Bubbles was the type who added a y at the end of everyone’s name who didn’t already have one.

  Bubbles met Parky when he came to see the variety show she was in at a flea-bitten theater off the Strip. Parky loved to see every spectacle Vegas had to offer, big or small. “Make a spectacle of yourself,” he advised people both in and out of show business. “It’s the way to get ahead in life. Sitting in the corner just doesn’t cut it.”

  Bubbles knew that the theater she was working in was a pathetic venue, but it gave her a chance to hone her stand-up act. The curtain went up at three in the afternoon, usually to a lot of empty seats. Bubbles felt encouraged the day not too long ago that Parky and his girlfriend were in the audience. He laughed at all her jokes. What really impressed him, though, was her bio in the program. It was obviously a pack of lies—well, if not exactly lies, certainly exaggerations of the truth. Who had ever heard of some of the comedy awards she supposedly won? And if they were worth anything, what was she doing here?

  Parky felt that Bubbles was a girl after his own heart. He went backstage after the show to say hello. It was her thirtieth birthday, and she was in a very bad mood. Her gig at the theater was almost up, and she’d have to hit the road again on the comedy circuit, doomed to performing in joints worse than this. She was weary and felt long in the tooth.

  Parky invited her to join him and Kitty for champagne and dessert. When he toasted Bubbles’s birthday, he offered her the job of producing, directing, and acting in a sitcom for possible airing on his cable channel.

  “My channel is growing by leaps and bounds. I plan to make my mark in the world of television. And you can help me do it.”

  Bubbles leaped over the table and kissed him. It made turning thirty almost bearable.

  Now Bubbles sat at the conference table chewing on her thumb, knowing that she had only four days to whip the show into shape. Her name belied her temperament. She was as tough as nails.

  Besides personally hiring the actors, the other provision Parky had made was that the sitcom had to use hot air balloons in the story line. He was doing everything he could to promote Hot Air Cable.

  Bubbles felt a headache coming on. She ran her hands through her long red hair. She was tall and lanky, attractive in a don’t-mess-with-me kind of way.

  “Let’s try that line again,” she urged James Volmer, the unfunniest actor on the planet. He was playing her brother-in-law.

  James, a soft-spoken guy with a brown and gray goatee and a serious expression, looked at her and blinked. “Why? I liked that line reading.”

  “There was only one problem with it,” Bubbles snarled through clenched teeth. “It wasn’t funny!”

  “I beg to differ.” James stood and placed his hand on his stomach as though to protect himself from further blows. “I’ve had enough. This atmosphere isn’t good for my health. I quit!”

  Bubbles jumped from her seat the same way she had when Parky offered her the job. “No! Please! You have to stay!” Bubbles hugged him fiercely. “You’re a wonderful actor, and I’m so proud of you.”

  The actors and writers waited for this latest eruption to calm itself. Bubbles was high-strung, to say the least. But it was only because she cared so much.

  Peter Daystone was the actor playing Bubbles’s husband, a lovable wiseguy who thought it was funny to trick friends who were afraid of
heights into riding in his hot air balloon. Peter had gotten lots of jobs acting in pilots that never made it to the air, thereby earning him the nickname “Pilot Pete.” In his early thirties, Pete had been playing the Hollywood game since he was eighteen, always coming close to the big break but never being able to grab the brass ring. When his agent sent him to audition for Take Me Higher, he was convinced that this show would change everything. He would become a big success, and he’d finally get his swimming pool.

  But as he sat at the table and put up with this guy who played his brother, Pete’s frustration was mounting. James Volmer stunk up the whole show. Pilot Pete could tell that Bubbles was doing her best not to crack. From where he sat he could see the vein in her temple throbbing. When we take a break, I’ll talk to her, he thought. We’ll figure out how to rectify this situation.

  I really want my swimming pool.

  Meanwhile, up in his office, his feet on his desk, Parky was watching the proceedings with glee. “I never thought it was going to turn out this good!” he exclaimed to Kitty.

  She looked up from her book. “You’re going to be sorry. Somebody’s going to end up killing somebody.”

  “It’s all in fun,” he cried as he clapped his hands.

  Kitty shrugged and tapped her bookmark against the page. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  8

  A t the local hospital near the studio, which was a couple of miles outside of town, Danny and Regan ran into the small emergency room. The camera crew was recording the actions of the famous Aunt Agony and Uncle Heartburn as they interviewed the afflicted contestant, Barney Schmidt, and his wife, Elsa. Barney was a big, beefy guy with a dark handlebar mustache. He was holding his injured arm, and tears were rolling down his face. Elsa was small but solid. Her hairdo made her look like Buster Brown. They were probably in their thirties.

  “Do you think this experience is bringing you closer as a couple?” Aunt Agony asked sweetly. Agony looked as if she was straight out of central casting: white hair in a bun, granny glasses, petite.

  “Is it strengthening your relationship?” Uncle Heartburn added. The sight of him reminded Regan not to squeeze the Charmin. Half glasses that slid down his nose, a receding hairline, a little mustache.

  Barney and Elsa looked at each other.

  “She never used to like it when I cried,” Barney said softly.

  “I do now,” Elsa insisted.

  Of course, Regan thought. Anything for a chance at a million bucks.

  “Men who cry are in touch with their inner selves,” Uncle Heartburn said gently. “And a man who can cry in public like Barney is doing, with the cameras going, well, I call that a man who’s not afraid.”

  “Oh, he cries everywhere,” Elsa said emphatically.

  That must have been what drove her crazy, Regan thought.

  The swinging doors to the treatment room swung open. “Barney Schmidt,” a doctor called.

  “Here!” Barney answered in a shaky voice, his lip trembling.

  The camera zoomed in on Elsa’s worried face as she watched him go off for X-rays. After a few seconds the cameraman ended the shot. A burly young guy with dark gelled hair emerged from the bathroom behind where the scene had taken place. It was obvious he hadn’t wanted to get in the shot.

  “Boss!” he cried out to Danny.

  Danny introduced Regan to his assistant, Victor.

  “Nice to meet you.” Victor shook Regan’s hand. He was a hometown Vegas boy who had worked as a bouncer at one of the bars in town. As a matter of fact, he’d had a lot of jobs. He and Danny had met at a blackjack table when Danny was putting together the plans for the reality show. Victor begged him for a job. Danny, who found it hard to say no to anyone, took him on as his assistant. So far it seemed to be working out.

  “What happened to Schmidt?” Danny asked.

  Victor rolled his eyes and waved his hands around.

  “Well?” Danny asked a trifle impatiently.

  “Boss, we’re running into problem after problem,” Victor began importantly. It always took him a while to get to the point, which is why he lost his job as a bouncer. Victor’s former boss told him he spent too much time talking instead of throwing people out the door. “Maybe we should talk outside.”

  Danny and Regan followed Victor into the parking lot.

  “Okay,” Victor said. “I’m not quite sure how it happened. He just slipped on the floor.”

  “That’s it?”

  Victor looked at him and blinked. “Yeah.”

  “You took us outside to tell us that?”

  “There’s more.”

  “Okay, then. What?” Danny prodded.

  Victor pointed self-consciously at Regan.

  “Regan’s a friend of mine from childhood. I trust her like a sister. She’s interested in producing her own reality show, and I promised to include her in on everything.”

  “That’s cool,” Victor said with a trace of skepticism. “Regan will be interested in what I have to say then.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “My girlfriend went online and found a website called Blowing the Lid Off that is focusing on our show. They’re saying that one of the couples is phony. Never been married. Aren’t even boyfriend and girlfriend. The two heard about the show and wanted to make money. So they got a forged marriage license. The website is encouraging anyone and everyone to write in about the other couples. They want the dirt.” Victor turned thoughtful for a moment. “I guess it’s one of those websites that specializes in gossip about reality show contestants.”

  “But we haven’t even been on the air yet.”

  “The power of the Internet. They posted all the contestants’ pictures.”

  “How did they get the pictures?” Danny asked.

  “Beats me. Another rumor is that one of the contestants has violent tendencies.”

  “Violent tendencies? But Roscoe did background checks, didn’t he?”

  “I heard they filled out forms.”

  “Forms?” Danny screeched.

  “You have to admit that things have been rushed. Besides, everyone has a past.”

  “Not a past that includes violent tendencies! This show won’t fly if these three couples aren’t legitimate! They didn’t say who it was?”

  “Of course not. Everybody’s afraid of getting sued.”

  “I know someone who can do some more thorough background checks,” Regan offered. “But if you have to eliminate a couple, will you be able to replace them?”

  “Only if we can get the replacements here by tomorrow,” Danny said. “That gives enough time for them to participate fully in the show. Regan, let’s go back to my office and get started. Victor, we’ll meet you back there. But first I want to see how Barney is doing.”

  As they stepped inside, the treatment room doors swung open, and Barney emerged with the doctor.

  “It’s not broken,” Barney reported joyously as Elsa ran over to give him a hug. “Just a little sprain.”

  The cameras recorded the tearful reunion between husband and wife.

  “Where’s Aunt Agony?” Regan whispered to Danny.

  “She went out back for a smoke,” one of the assistants answered.

  Regan glanced over at the doctor. He looked properly serious. When his eye met Regan’s, he looked at her questioningly. “Are you one of the producers?” he mouthed.

  Regan shook her head and tapped Danny on the shoulder. She steered him over to the hallway where the doctor was standing. “Danny Madley is the producer,” Regan said to the doctor in a low voice.

  “Mr. Madley, I thought you might be interested in knowing that Schmidt tried to bribe me into putting on a fake cast.”

  Oh, boy, Regan thought. I’d better get started on those background checks.

  9

  T he headquarters of Hot Air Cable was a collection of low buildings in the middle of the desert, surrounded by acres and acres of undeveloped land that Roscoe had bought for a song. Th
e snow-capped mountains beckoned in the distance. The complex felt as if it was in the middle of nowhere, but in no time Roscoe could be in downtown Vegas at a show or sitting at the craps table. For Roscoe it was the best of both worlds.

  Roscoe’s hot air balloon business was housed on the property, and his private plane was parked on his very own runway. He loved the thought of taking off into the wild blue yonder almost whenever he wanted.

  Roscoe built an elaborate television studio, with a dozen satellite dishes, state-of-the-art equipment, and a huge office for himself. He also constructed three extra high-tech studios to be used for future productions. Love Above Sea Level and Take Me Higher had set up shop in two of the studios.

  He planned to create an empire. A tour long ago of the Paramount Pictures lot in Hollywood had stuck in the back of Roscoe’s mind. He loved the beehive of activity, people going back and forth between the studios and the offices and all the different departments. And Roscoe, being the control freak that he was, wanted to be at the helm of his own operation. He knew that Hot Air Cable had a long way to go, but he also knew that by Friday night he’d have a decent show to put over the airwaves. One way or another.

  “Come on, Kitty,” he said to his paramour as he got up from his desk. “It’s three o’clock. Time to go for a swim and a little workout.”

  Roscoe hated the middle of the afternoon. It was the only time of day he felt a slump in his energy. That was why he went to some of the dreadful afternoon shows. No matter how bad the acts were, in the darkened theater he felt renewed. But if there was no show or movie he wanted to see, he used that time to exercise. By four-thirty or five o’clock he was as fresh as a daisy, ready to take on the evening.