Chapter 2

The Blastoffs, a live action Saturday morning show of the early eighties, featured a musical pair of brothers—Sid and Marty Blastoff—who toured the galaxy with their alien babysitter/manager, Posit, spreading “love and groovy tunes.” Only eighteen episodes were filmed, and the show would probably have disappeared into obscurity like its contemporaries, Laverne & Shirley in the Army and Turbo Teen, had the show not introduced John Laryea.

SATURDAY MORNING SPREE BY CHARLES M. LUCE

TILDA and Pete Ellis could have waited inside the limo that day, but had agreed that the unseasonably warm October weather was too nice to waste, so instead were leaning against the side of the glossy black vehicle enjoying the sun when Tilda’s cell phone broke into the opening bars of the theme from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

“This is Tilda.”

“What was your favorite Saturday morning show?” a familiar voice demanded to know.

“Forget it, Cooper. I told you, no more polls.”

“Come on, Tilda, I have to get a dozen more people.”

“Then you shouldn’t have laughed your ass off when I answered your questions about the shows that make me cry.”

“I couldn’t help it. I mean, you cry at A Pinky & the Brain Christmas Special.”

“Which everybody on Facebook now knows, thanks to you. They also get to mock me for my favorite romantic heroes.”

“Jonny Quest was a romantic hero?”

“Good-bye, Cooper.”

“Please, please, please. I swear, I’m on my knees. I can take a picture right now and send it to you.”

“It wouldn’t help.”

“Ten minutes. I just need ten minutes.”

“I don’t have ten minutes. I’m at the airport and John Laryea is going to be out in five.”

Pete Ellis, the limo driver, cleared his throat. “Actually, I just got word from Dom. There’s been a slight delay with the flight, and Mr. Laryea won’t be deplaning for another twenty minutes. Then they’ll have to get his luggage, and …”

“Thanks a lot,” Tilda said. Then inspiration struck. “Cooper, you need some fresh blood. I’m handing the phone to my new friend Pete. I know he’ll love answering your questions.”

Ignoring the look of panic on Pete’s face, she pressed her phone into his hand, and leaned back to drink a Dr Pepper from the limo’s refrigerator while he admitted to Cooper that he’d always been a fan of Scooby-Doo, Thundarr the Barbarian, and The SuperFriends. She’d halfway expected him to mention The Blastoffs, since they were waiting for the star who’d made his first foray into show business singing his way across the universe in that show, but it didn’t happen.

After Pete was finished with the survey, he handed the phone back to Tilda.

“Now it’s your turn,” Cooper said.

“I don’t want a turn. What I want is for you to deliver a message to Jillian for me. Tell her I’ve got a fresh lead on the last guy from Power Pets—I think I’ll be able to track him down within the week.”

“Oh, about that …”

“Don’t tell me she’s spiking the article!”

“No, she still wants it, but you don’t need to find that guy anymore. We found him.”

“What do you mean you found him? I’ve spent the last three weeks looking for him. Nobody knows where he is.”

“We do now. He heard from one of his costars that we wanted to talk to him, and he got in touch with us. Nicole did a phone interview with him this morning.”

“You have got to be kidding me! Which costar? They all swore that they didn’t know where he was!”

“Joy something. The one who did Clueless Cub.”

“Joy Baird? That bitch!” Tilda had known the woman hadn’t liked her because she’d been honest when naming her favorite character on the show—and it hadn’t been Clueless Cub. She’d thought Baird might be holding out on her, but hadn’t expected her to pull an end run. “What am I supposed to do with the interviews I’ve already done?”

“Nicole is going to send you her notes so you can integrate the material with your stuff.”

She took a deep breath. “Fine, I can do that.”

“Um, Jillian says she’s going to dock your pay a little, too.”

“Of course she is. Why would she pay for my epic fail?”

“It’s not epic,” Cooper objected. “Everybody has an off day.”

“This is my second off day in a month.”

“Hey, that other guy wasn’t your fault. How were you supposed to know he’d had a sex-change operation and moved to Denmark?”

“Whatever.”

“Tilda …”

“Sorry, can’t talk. Here comes Laryea! Bye!”

Pete was straightening up to greet the arriving star until he realized Tilda was blowing off Cooper.

“Sorry,” she said. “I needed to get off the phone.”

“Anything wrong?”

“I just found out I screwed up an assignment.”

“It happens.”

“I guess.” Except that finding the formerly famous was supposed to be her specialty, and missing two targets in less than a month wasn’t going to instill confidence in the editors from whom she was soliciting work. Entertain Me! was one of her best markets, and if Jillian, the editor in chief, decided they didn’t need her, there went a large slice of her income.

Pete waggled a finger at her. “No brooding. It’s too nice a day for it. Take a deep breath, and let it go.”

It sounded a little touchy-feely, but Tilda did so, just to be polite. And it did help a little. There would be plenty of time to brood later.

They resumed their lounging, and Tilda found it oddly comfortable for being with a man she’d just met. She took a sidewise look at Pete. He was in his midforties, with a long, angular face, a wiry build, and thick hair that either nature or nurture kept nut-brown. And damned if he didn’t look familiar!

“Pete, have we met before?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve only been in Boston for a few months.”

“Where were you before that?”

“Dallas—that’s where I met Dom, and he talked me into coming here to work for him.”

“You’re not originally from Texas are you? Not with that accent.”

He chuckled. “No, I bounced around quite a bit. I grew up in Colorado.”

“Oh well,” she said, mystified. “You sure look familiar.”

“Just that kind of a face, I guess.” Then Pete put his hand to his earpiece and listened for a few seconds. “Dom says he’s got Laryea and his group, and they’ve got the luggage. They’ll be on the way out in a few.”

He tossed away the Coke he’d been drinking and went to stand at attention by the door.

“What’s the etiquette here? Do I wait inside the limo or greet them outside?” Tilda had interviewed plenty of celebrities, but never in a stretch limo.

She’d been surprised when Dom Tolomeo of Tolomeo Personal Protection had called the day before to offer her a private interview with Laryea. The idea was for her to ride along on the trip from Boston’s Logan Airport to Glenham, the town on the Cape where Laryea was headed to film location shots for his new movie. Dom had sent Pete Ellis, a combination limo driver and bodyguard, to pick her up that morning.

“Have you met Laryea before?” Pete asked.

She shook her head.

“Then you probably want to let Dom introduce him and his crew out here, and then let Mr. Laryea decide where he wants everybody to sit.”

“Fair enough.” That meant she was standing next to Pete when she saw Dom, Laryea, and the rest of the party come out of the terminal. They were at a dead run.

She heard squawks from Pete’s earpiece, and he said, “Forget what I said before—GET IN!”

Tilda threw herself back into the limo, staying as far away from the door as possible as a confusion of people tossed massive amounts of luggage into the trunk. As Pete jumped into the front seat, with Dom taking shotgun, three men and two women flung themselves into the back with Tilda, with one of the men ending up with his head in her lap.

Tilda caught a glimpse of a redheaded guy in jeans running toward them like a bat out of hell. He looked as if he wanted to get in front of the limo to block them, and Tilda heard Pete mutter, “Blasting off!” as he revved the engine and peeled out. The guy jumped back onto the sidewalk, but Tilda was no longer paying attention. Instead, she’d realized why it was Pete Ellis looked familiar.

He might be driving a limo, but unless she’d completely lost her touch, at one point he’d piloted a fictional spaceship. Pete Ellis was Spencer Marshall, the man who’d costarred in The Blastoffs with John Laryea.