Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer by Lee Hollis (famous ebook reader .txt) 📗

“What about Pam?”

Rod took a step back, lips pursed, stumped. “Who?”

“Pam, the actress playing Bloody Mary. We’ve been working with her all week,” Poppy reminded him.

A light bulb seemed to go off in his head but it didn’t appear to be very bright. “Oh, her. What about her?”

“She told me you two had plans together later.”

Rod was genuinely perplexed. “She did?”

“Yes.”

Rod shrugged. “Well, she may have mentioned meeting up at some point earlier, but it was nothing definitive, and I would much rather spend time with you, to be honest.”

At this point, Poppy did not know what to think.

Pam had been so excited and eager to share her upcoming romantic rendezvous with Rod to everyone within earshot.

Had she been lying?

Rod barely seemed to even know who she was.

It was becoming clear that perhaps Pam had at least been exaggerating her chemistry with Rod, if not downright lying about it.

Still, Poppy had learned to be cautious when it came to her charismatic co-star, fearing his lothario-like tendencies would eventually come back to bite her.

“The thing is, Rod, I’m really tired tonight—”

He instantly put a finger to her lips. “Please, Poppy, we’ve both been promising to spend more time together outside of work, but we never seem to get around to it. Let’s just grab a drink and relax.” He could sense Poppy’s hesitation. “Come on, gorgeous, just one drink . . .”

His eyes twinkled.

She hated it when they did that.

Because she found herself weakening, like the hapless subject of a master hypnotist. If there was one thing about Rod Harper that a good deal of the female population in America knew was that he could be overpoweringly intoxicating.

Like 190 proof.

Poppy, lost in those beautiful eyes, could not help but finally succumb. “One drink?”

Rod nodded, delighted, and then playfully grabbed Poppy’s pinky finger with his own. “One drink, I swear, pinky promise.”

Poppy laughed, slapping his hand away.

“Should I pick you up at your place?” Rod asked.

“No, I’ll meet you there,” Poppy said before pinching her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “Now, for everybody’s sake, please go take that shower.”

Rod sniffed himself again. “Is it that bad? You sure it’s just not my natural manly scent?” He raised his arm, which sent Poppy scurrying away, down the hall to her dressing room. She could hear Rod chuckle as he headed off in the opposite direction.

As Poppy passed one of the guest star dressing rooms, she overheard Pam talking on the phone to a friend about her plans with Rod Harper later that evening. Poppy debated whether or not she should tell Pam that Rod had no intention of meeting her later, that to be generous, they had somehow gotten their signals crossed, but she decided to stay out of it. If Pam was telling everyone she and Rod were involved romantically or otherwise, that was her business. And it was Rod’s job, not Poppy’s, to make that clear to Pam. Poppy continued on to her own dressing room to change and head home to get ready before meeting Rod.

* * *

Poppy glanced at her watch.

10:09 PM.

She had left the studio at eight o’clock and after a quick change at home, she had arrived at the iconic Roosevelt Hotel bar in Hollywood just a few minutes past nine. Rod had said he wanted to meet at the bar in one hour. That was now over an hour ago. She stared at the mostly melted ice in her glass wondering if she should order another drink and give him a little more time. Poppy’s mood had not yet soured. Anything could have delayed Rod. Perhaps the director had approached him as he was leaving with some script changes, or a few autograph hounds had descended upon him when he stopped to gas up his Corvette at the Mobil station in his neighborhood. She was optimistic by nature, but not naive, and right now Rod was testing that steady optimism.

She was sitting at the end of the bar, swirling around the tiny chunks of what was left of the ice with a green plastic stirrer, when the young, handsome bartender swung around to her side of the bar. “Another vodka soda?”

Poppy covered the top of her glass with her hand. “No, I’m good, thank you.”

The bartender gave her a rueful smile.

Please, God, no pity from the bartender.

He knew she was waiting for someone.

When a gentleman earlier had made a move to sit down on the stool next to her, she had politely informed him that she was meeting someone and was saving the seat for him. The man apologized and sat down a few stools away from her. The bartender had overheard and so now, almost an hour later, he was assuming she had been stood up.

And maybe she had been.

But Rod had been so insistent.

Perhaps he had been in a car accident.

As she thought about it, she wanted to kick herself.

Why did she always try to make excuses for him? She knew there had been no car accident. Rod was just being Rod. He would show up at some point, full of excuses. And she knew she would forgive him as she always did, and then go home and promise herself she would not fall for his charms ever again, even if it was just to keep peace and calm on the set of Jack Colt.

The bartender appeared again and set down a vodka soda with a wedge of lime in front of her.

Poppy sat up straight on her barstool, confused. “I’m sorry, I thought I said I didn’t want another.”

“You did,” the bartender said amiably.

“Well, I hope this isn’t a free cocktail because you feel sorry for me that my date is so far a no-show.”

The bartender shook his head. “It’s not from me. It’s from that gentleman over there.” He stepped aside and gestured toward a good-looking blond man, mid-thirties, in a tan corduroy sports coat, white shirt, and bright red tie. The man smiled and waved nervously over