Page 67 of The Attic on Queen Street

He let out another loud expletive, which was thankfully blocked out by the sound of horns from all vehicles in the vicinity blaring at once. Marc appeared on the piazza, his gaze scanning the chaos from the front door, his hands held over his ears. He glared when he spotted me, and began running down the piazza steps.

I turned to Nola. “Go to the kitchen. Now. And use the back door. You’re welcome to eat as many lemon bars as you like.”

“Are they vegan?”

Lindsey rolled her eyes, then used both hands to push on Nola’s back to get her moving in the right direction, Alston jogging along behind them.

I was relieved to see Jack had arrived and was parking the minivan behind the Ferrari. He slammed the door as he raced toward me, reaching me at the same time as Marc.

“Make it stop!” Marc screamed. “We had a deal, remember?”

Jack stood in front of Marc. “Do not yell at my wife, or a bunch of commotion on your film set will be the least of your worries.”

Harvey moved to stand next to Marc, neither one of them looking very threatening. Maybe it was the fake tans and the brilliant teeth that advertised their inexperience with street brawls. Obviously, Harvey didn’t get the message, because he leaned close to me and said, very loudly and succinctly, with plenty of spittle, “Make. It. Stop.”

I put my hand on Jack’s arm to hold him back while using my other sleeve to wipe my face. “Have you tried asking nicely?” I forced a smile if only so I wouldn’t be tempted to spit back at him.

“Ask nicely?” Harvey sneered. “I shouldn’t have to ask you—”

“Not me—the house.”

He closed his mouth, narrowed his eyes. “I’m not stupid. I’m not going to embarrass myself by—”

Marc turned to face the house. With his hands bracketing his mouth, he shouted, “Stop it!”

The mayhem continued, the noise even louder.

“See?” Harvey pushed Marc on the shoulder. “They’re just trying to make you look more idiotic than you already do.”

“The lady said to ask nicely.” Jack put his arm around my shoulders.

With a narrowed-eye glance at us, Marc turned around again and shouted, “Please!”

Immediately, the sprinklers stopped spewing water, the lights remained on, and the blaring music and honking horns blessedly stopped.

“See what can happen when you’re polite?” Jack said. “You should try it more often.”

Marc took a menacing step toward us. “We had a deal.”

Jack put a hand on Marc’s chest. “Yes, we did. We still do. But if you recall, Melanie made no promises about things beyond her control.”

Harvey stepped into the fray. “Then how do you explain that article in thePost and Courier? My crew is already freaked out from what the last crew told them happened in December. If this crew deserts the set, it will set us back so far, we might not be able to recover.” He stepped closer to Jack, who was a good head taller. With a buffed and manicured index finger, he poked Jack in the chest with each word. “That. Had. Better. Not. Happen.”

Jack took a step closer. “Do that one more time. Please.”

The menacing look on Jack’s face must have convinced Harvey that he was serious.

“Melanie.” Marc tried to look contrite and conciliatory, but it was clear that was a first for him and he ended up looking more like a grinning Skeletor.

“I already told you that I have no control over any of”—I waved my hand in the general direction of the house—“that.” Turning to Harvey, I said, “And if you have an issue with the newspaper, I suggest calling the journalist who wrote the story. I believe her name is Suzy Dorf.”

“I did,” he said through gritted teeth. “She won’t return my phone calls.”

“How rude.” I turned away, my attention redirected to a commotion at the side of the house, where Nola and her friends were crowding around a young couple and handing them pieces of paper.

“Please don’t tell me...” Jack stopped.

“Who is that?” I asked, squinting through the growing darkness.