Jack stared at her. “I told you I don’t want you to be alone. Lou Lou had to leave since she’s the one who smears on the makeup this morning and Carlo had to go wax his surfboard. As for Daniel, he’s got a real job to go to. That left me.”

And like Lou Lou had said, Jack stayed on at the studio. In fact, Clyde was very pleased he was there, as was Betsy Monroe, who played Lydia Cavendish. She wondered aloud, in his hearing, if he was unattached. So he was a little on the young side for her, who cared? This was make-believe land, anything could happen. Jack looked alarmed, then saw she was kidding him and laughed, told her she was too hot for a small-town guy like him.

Mary Lisa shot three scenes, from eight-thirty until noon. Jack mostly sat on a folding chair near the set with his legs crossed, beside Candy, whose job it was to keep an eye on Mary Lisa’s wardrobe and hair. When she was done with the third scene, Mary Lisa walked over to him. “Give me ten minutes to wipe the goop off my face.”

Lou Lou had to stay on into the afternoon since she also had to deal with Margie McCormick’s makeup on Fridays.

As Mary Lisa walked out of the studio, Jack was slightly in front of her, assessing everyone in sight, scanning the parked cars and a stand of trees beyond them. “So your father is a TV evangelist and that’s why he insisted your name be changed to Sunday?”

The three scenes they’d shot had been intense, two of them repeated multiple times. She was exhausted. And Sunday had yet to see her long-lost father for the first time. The writers were stretching out the anticipation for as long as they could.

“Yep, isn’t it cool what they’ve come up with? This means I don’t have to sleep with my half sister, Susan’s, husband, who’s a sleaze.”

He grunted, never stopped looking. “Yeah, a real sleaze.”

So he knew all about that, did he? She grinned up at him, but couldn’t make out his expression because he was wearing his dark opaque aviator sunglasses. She put on her own sunglasses. “I begged and whined and pleaded for them not to have Sunday sleep with Damian, and lo and behold, the consulting writer, Suzanne, came up with this. Sunday has never questioned her name. I don’t think anyone did until Suzanne came up with my supposedly long-dead preacher dad. This is going to change the course of the show for a good long time. On Monday I’ll meet Phillip Galliard for the first time.”

He grabbed her arm, pulled her behind him as a green Chevy roared past.

Then he saw the three teenage boys waving madly at her, whistling, calling out lovely suggestions.

Mary Lisa pulled a 49ers cap out of her purse, stuffed her hair beneath it, and pulled it down low on her forehead. “It’s my hair. That’s what makes me recognizable, or maybe they think, given where we are, that I should be someone famous. You never know.”

Jack shook his head as he checked the street again. “What a weird life you lead.”

She looked surprised, then thoughtful. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. But you know, after a while, it simply became the way I live-you know, getting dressed, going to work, hanging out with friends. Well, of course there’s memorizing lines. It becomes ordinary.”

“You really don’t see yourself as different? As someone special? As someone others look up to?”

“This obsession with celebrities, it’s a little scary, like it’s a giant beast and there’s simply not enough food to appease it. The fact is, I’m an actor, Jack, that’s my job, like being the chief of police of Goddard Bay is yours. The real difference between us, I guess, is that for now, I make more money, which is very nice indeed. On the other hand I have to wear really big dark glasses and a baseball cap over my hair whenever I go out of the Colony.”

“Yeah, you could buy and sell me.”

She said matter-of-factly, “Who cares? Don’t you think it’s strange that some men still feel insecure if they’re not making more money?” An eyebrow went up. “Not you, surely.”

“Of course not, but it’s not that at all,” he said, but she heard the touch of defensiveness in his voice and had to smile. He continued, “The fact remains, though, that men are supposed to take care of their families, they’re regarded as bums if they don’t.”

“That was certainly true of our parents, but now? Both husband and wife usually work, fact of life. And I always knew that I never wanted to be dependent, that I always wanted to earn my own way. That’s a problem with you?”

“Dammit, no. If a guy had a problem with that today, he’d be spit upon.”

“Yep, that’s true. As for me, I’m trying to salt it away like a squirrel getting ready for a long winter.”

She shrugged as she got into the driver’s seat of her red Mustang convertible.

He raised an eyebrow at the car. “That’s the new model. You salted a good amount on this baby.”

She grinned over at him. “Making money is fun, it makes me feel worthwhile, but I know it can’t last forever. If an actor gets caught up in thinking he’s the greatest thing in the universe, he’s in for trouble. And that’s why I stay with my circle of friends and try not to get drawn into all the ridiculous hype.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “So you think it won’t last? Your extreme popularity in this soap?”

She patted the dashboard. “Who knows? Truth be told, I’d rather drive Buffy than buy a thousand Manolo Blahniks.”

He raised an eyebrow as he climbed in and closed the door. She laughed. “Okay, Blahnik designs the coolest shoes in the universe. And hey, Buffy’s bright red keeps me awake.” Once both of them had fastened their seat belts, she turned the key. “I got her from Chris Rock after I met him in a greenroom for some show we were both on. He said his wife didn’t like the red, and so he gave me a good price.”

He’d heard of Chris Rock, naturally, and she’d spoken about him so naturally. He said, shaking his head, “No, Mary Lisa, your life is very different from mine. The last time I saw Chris Rock, we did not interact. He was behind the TV screen.”

She laughed. “The thing is, Chris agrees with me-if you count on anything in this town, you’re setting yourself up for a big punch in the mouth.”

“But you’re in a lucky situation, aren’t you? Some of the soap opera stars keep their roles for years and years.”

“Yep, like Kay Chancellor and Victor Newman on The Young and the Restless. We’ll see. Maybe something else will come along or maybe it won’t. Right now, I’m having a ball. And I know I’m lucky. Hey, I’ll take you to lunch at Alfredo’s, over in Santa Monica.”

“I like Italian.”

“Hmm, well, it’s not exactly Italian.”

What it was, Jack discovered twenty minutes later, was a fish and chips dive right across the street from the ocean, at the base of the long pier. He looked out to see at least fifty half-naked girls sprawled out on the sand for as far as the eye could see, guys in low-slung shorts trailing about, trying not to look too obvious about eyeing all the beautiful young bodies.

“This is never-never land,” he said as he added some more vinegar to his French fries.

“A guy’s fantasy life can be in full bloom here, that’s for sure.” She was contemplating a French fry. “This is my caloric meal for the week, so excuse me a moment, I’m connecting to my fat content.”

He watched her eat a moment, savoring each vinegar-drenched French fry, then locking in on the deep-fried haddock. “I tell myself it’s okay because it’s fish. What do you think?”

“Self-deception isn’t always a bad thing.”

She chewed for a long time, finally swallowed, and laughed. “Have you always wanted to be a cop? Are you having fun with your choice right now?”

He stared at her a moment. “Usually I don’t think about it, but yeah, I always wanted to be a cop. My grandfather was a Chicago detective. He was the finest man I ever knew. I wanted to be like him. And I wanted local, not FBI.” He ate another French fry, then looked at her thoughtfully. “I think I’m well suited to what I do. Yeah, I enjoy it.”