Read Online A First Date with Death by Diana Orgain - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Diana Orgain
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PIETRO
Five years.
CHERYL (O.S.)
Italians are big into love and families, right?
PIETRO
Sì.
CHERYL (O.S.)
So are you hoping to find your dream girl on the show?
PIETRO
(
laughs
) Ah, what a world it would be if we could just go on a show and find a wife!
CHERYL (O.S.)
You don’t think that can happen?
PIETRO
Perhaps, but not for me. I’ve already found the one.
CHERYL (O.S.)
Oh. So you’re on the show in hopes of winning the prize money?
PIETRO
(
waves his hands around
)
A rubar poco si va in galera, a rubar tanto si fa cariera
.
CHERYL (O.S.)
Care to translate?
PIETRO
(
laughs
) It’s an Italian saying. “Steal a little, go to jail; steal a lot, make a career of it.”
CHERYL (O.S.)
You’re going to steal the money?
PIETRO
No, but it feels a little like that. I have to steal the girl’s heart.
• • • • • • • • •
T he police finished questioning everyone and we found ourselves escorted back to the mansion. Cheryl had requested that the cast gather back in the main living room for another meeting. This time I was sure the show was canceled.
I was so relieved.
I could barely contain my excitement. I was planning my immediate departure from L.A.
Although I actually had no plans.
What would I do? Where would I go?
San Francisco no longer seemed like home and I found myself daydreaming about my hometown of Cottonwood. I’d grown up on a small farm in northern California. Could going home—going back to that small town—be an option?
I entered the room and surveyed my surroundings. Becca and the crew were across the room in a huddle. There were no cameras on and the set felt strange without the warmth of the lights, almost as if someone had turned off the sun.
Paul was absent; presumably he was working with LAPD.
Dr. Edward and the cowboy, Ty, were seated next to each other in aluminum folding chairs that had been vacated by the ordinary crew. Ty was leaning in close to Edward, discussing something with him, in a manner that could only be described as urgent and hurried. Ty’s hand was covering his mouth as he spoke and his head bobbed up and down as he rapidly whispered something to Edward.
I cleared my throat as I crossed the room. Ty’s eyes flashed toward me, but he continued his intense talk with Edward. Edward, for his part, glanced up at me and offered me a soft smile.
In the center of the room was Scott perched in the middle of the brown leather couch, his legs crossed with an ankle over his knee and his arms spread open on the back of the couch. He looked about as comfortable and secure as a guy could get—his confidence annoyingly sexy.
God, Georgia, don’t fall for the biggest jerk on the set!
I took a seat on far right end of the couch, but Scott scooted closer immediately, his right knee pressing against my left. Heat surged between our bodies and I involuntarily jerked my leg away. Scott lowered his eyes toward the gap that now existed between us.
After a moment, he whispered, “It’s too much of a coincidence, isn’t it? Two guys dead in within a couple days?”
“Aaron isn’t dead. He’s in a coma,” I said.
Scott shrugged. “You know what I mean, though. It’s like the show is cursed.”
“Cursed? Come on. You’re not superstitious, are you?”
He rubbed at his shaved head and flashed me a crooked smile. “Not at all. That’s why I said it couldn’t be a coincidence.”
The sound of a woman’s hurried footsteps followed by more footsteps brought a close to the side conversations in the room, each of us looking up expectantly. Cheryl flew into the room followed by the other male contestants. The men looked confused as they filed into the room.
Nathan, the surfer, smiled when he saw me and took a place behind the couch where he could stand directly behind me. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Is everything okay? You all look shaken.”
Before I could reply, Harris Carlson
PIETRO
Five years.
CHERYL (O.S.)
Italians are big into love and families, right?
PIETRO
Sì.
CHERYL (O.S.)
So are you hoping to find your dream girl on the show?
PIETRO
(
laughs
) Ah, what a world it would be if we could just go on a show and find a wife!
CHERYL (O.S.)
You don’t think that can happen?
PIETRO
Perhaps, but not for me. I’ve already found the one.
CHERYL (O.S.)
Oh. So you’re on the show in hopes of winning the prize money?
PIETRO
(
waves his hands around
)
A rubar poco si va in galera, a rubar tanto si fa cariera
.
CHERYL (O.S.)
Care to translate?
PIETRO
(
laughs
) It’s an Italian saying. “Steal a little, go to jail; steal a lot, make a career of it.”
CHERYL (O.S.)
You’re going to steal the money?
PIETRO
No, but it feels a little like that. I have to steal the girl’s heart.
• • • • • • • • •
T he police finished questioning everyone and we found ourselves escorted back to the mansion. Cheryl had requested that the cast gather back in the main living room for another meeting. This time I was sure the show was canceled.
I was so relieved.
I could barely contain my excitement. I was planning my immediate departure from L.A.
Although I actually had no plans.
What would I do? Where would I go?
San Francisco no longer seemed like home and I found myself daydreaming about my hometown of Cottonwood. I’d grown up on a small farm in northern California. Could going home—going back to that small town—be an option?
I entered the room and surveyed my surroundings. Becca and the crew were across the room in a huddle. There were no cameras on and the set felt strange without the warmth of the lights, almost as if someone had turned off the sun.
Paul was absent; presumably he was working with LAPD.
Dr. Edward and the cowboy, Ty, were seated next to each other in aluminum folding chairs that had been vacated by the ordinary crew. Ty was leaning in close to Edward, discussing something with him, in a manner that could only be described as urgent and hurried. Ty’s hand was covering his mouth as he spoke and his head bobbed up and down as he rapidly whispered something to Edward.
I cleared my throat as I crossed the room. Ty’s eyes flashed toward me, but he continued his intense talk with Edward. Edward, for his part, glanced up at me and offered me a soft smile.
In the center of the room was Scott perched in the middle of the brown leather couch, his legs crossed with an ankle over his knee and his arms spread open on the back of the couch. He looked about as comfortable and secure as a guy could get—his confidence annoyingly sexy.
God, Georgia, don’t fall for the biggest jerk on the set!
I took a seat on far right end of the couch, but Scott scooted closer immediately, his right knee pressing against my left. Heat surged between our bodies and I involuntarily jerked my leg away. Scott lowered his eyes toward the gap that now existed between us.
After a moment, he whispered, “It’s too much of a coincidence, isn’t it? Two guys dead in within a couple days?”
“Aaron isn’t dead. He’s in a coma,” I said.
Scott shrugged. “You know what I mean, though. It’s like the show is cursed.”
“Cursed? Come on. You’re not superstitious, are you?”
He rubbed at his shaved head and flashed me a crooked smile. “Not at all. That’s why I said it couldn’t be a coincidence.”
The sound of a woman’s hurried footsteps followed by more footsteps brought a close to the side conversations in the room, each of us looking up expectantly. Cheryl flew into the room followed by the other male contestants. The men looked confused as they filed into the room.
Nathan, the surfer, smiled when he saw me and took a place behind the couch where he could stand directly behind me. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Is everything okay? You all look shaken.”
Before I could reply, Harris Carlson
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