Single Mama's Got More Drama

“I heard all about your ordeal with Eli Johnson, and I’d love the opportunity to speak to you about the option of buying your story.”

“Buying my story?”

“I’d like to make it into a movie of the week.”

I frowned into the receiver, wondering if the person on the other end of my line was playing some sort of a joke on me. “Are you…is this a friend of Tassie’s?”

“You mean Tassie Johnson, the wife Eli never told you about?”

The woman sounded almost gleefully excited as she relayed the facts I had wanted to put behind me. Like someone sharing a piece of gossip.

No, she wasn’t a friend of Tassie’s.

“This is for real?” I asked.

“Absolutely. And your story has the right amount of sex, deception, twists and turns that would make a fantastic movie. The secret wife and kids, being murdered in his lover’s bed. The whole ‘celebrity behaving badly’ angle is a huge sell.”

“Right,” I said absently, the woman’s retelling of what had happened in my life making my stomach twist.

“Of course, you’ll be paid,” Charlie went on.

“Oh?” I rolled my chair forward and rested my elbows on the desk. “How much?”

“The exact amount will have to be negotiated, but it would be…significant.”

Possibly thousands of dollars, just for sharing my story with America. A story they already knew, quite frankly, so it wasn’t as if I would be airing my dirty laundry.

Of course, a movie would get into much more detail, like how I’d met Eli, our courtship, his life with Tassie.

My life with Rayna.

“When can we meet, Vanessa? I’d be happy to fly you to L. A.”

“You know what, I’m not interested.”

“I think we should meet face-to-face, and you can hear my ideas.”

“I really am not interested,” I reaffirmed. “I think the story has been exploited enough, and I didn’t exactly come out of it smelling like roses. Then there’s my daughter…”

“I promise you, we’ll handle the story sensitively.”

“Short of when my parents died, what happened with Eli was the worst time of my life. I have no desire to revisit that tragic time.” Not even if the money sounded appealing. “I’m sorry, but that’s my final decision.”

“If you change your mind—”

“I won’t. Thank you for the call, though.”

I replaced the receiver, then exhaled sharply. A producer wanted to make a movie out of my life?

Unbelievable.

When my phone rang again, I assumed it was the producer calling back, and I debated not answering it. But there was one thing I couldn’t do as the agency’s office manager—ignore my phone.

I picked up the receiver and put it to my ear. “Vanessa Cain.”

“Hey, girl.”

“Alaina,” I said, feeling immediate relief. “How are you?”

“Better. I’m feeling a lot better than yesterday.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that.”

“I figure I’ll be back to work in no time.”

“Of course you will. You’re a fighter.” I said the words not only to support Alaina, but also because I believed them. In the face of a horrific assault, she was finding the courage not just to go on, but to not let what her ex-husband had done bring her down emotionally.

“So, any office gossip?” Alaina asked. “I’m going through serious gossip withdrawal.”

“Not really,” I said. “Well, that’s not true. You’ll never believe who just called me.”

“Chaz?” Alaina asked excitedly.

“No. Not Chaz.” Hearing and saying his name, I felt a pain grip my heart.

“Tassie?”

“No, not Tassie.”

“Then who?”

“A Hollywood producer,” I said, enunciating my words. “Would you believe she wants to make a TV movie about my story? My relationship with Eli, how he was killed, the fact that he had a secret wife and kids. All the drama that made my life total hell.”

“Oh, my God! How much are they going to pay you?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t stay on the phone long enough to ask.”

“What? Tell me you did not just say what I think you said.”

“You heard me.”

“Are you crazy?” Alaina asked. “You turned the producer down?”

“I just said that all that drama made my life total hell. I don’t want to relive that.”

“But you could probably get rich! And then you wouldn’t have to marry Lewis, because you’d have the money to buy Tassie off yourself. It’d be a nice way to profit from something so horrible.”

“And all I have to do is let them exploit me,” I said in a fake-cheery voice. “It’s not like I haven’t had enough stress because of the media covering the story to last me a lifetime.”