The video of the girl motor cyclist was popular with the following week's studio audience. It was usual to have one live item and the rest of the events were prerecorded. The show was going successfully and yet, somehow, Gina felt dissatisfied.
She knew she was looking more than usually stunning tonight. Apart from the fact that she had no time for false modesty, other eyes besides her own had told her so—those of the cameramen; the indrawn breath of the audience had been complimentary; and earlier, in her dressing-room, Jimmy had been lavish with his praise.
Her new outfit, a sensational, sparkling gold two-piece, fitted her like a second skin that echoed every movement of her voluptuous figure. Dolman sleeved, it had a plunging V-back top. Dramatic, high-heeled black shoes and daring black-seamed stockings completed the outfit. Yes, she looked good.
Yet all the time she laughed and joked with her guests, introduced their particular fantasies, another part of her mind held itself aloof, trying to analyse her dissatisfaction. There had been no mishaps so far and there were not likely to be; the mixture was as before. 'As before.' That was it! The show was becoming boringly predictable! It was time to inject a new dimension, but she was the only one who seemed to feel this way. Everyone else seemed happy, the guests, the audience, the production team. Out of camera shot, she could just see Jimmy's freckled face, set in complacent lines. Was she the only one to notice something lacking?
Then the penny dropped. It was all the fault of that damned man at the motor-cycle rally. That crack of his about her being too cowardly to try the stunts herself, the implication, with which secretly she had agreed, that she could make much more of her role. But to be honest, it wasn't entirely his fault she felt this way. She'd already begun to think along similar lines with her urge to shed her anonymity.
'And now,' the voice of the unseen announcer broke in upon her thoughts, 'a slight variation from our usual routine, a request that even Fantasy Woman herself knows nothing about.'
Gina jerked to attention; illogically her first reaction was one of indignation. How dared they spring something on her for which she was unprepared? And who had arranged for the gratification of the request, whatever it was? It was unprecedented; she'd never had to cope with the unexpected. Could she do it when she had no idea what was wanted of her?
Then the stubborn chin came into prominence. Of course she could. Besides, Jimmy would have arranged things. He wouldn't really have left everything to chance. Feeling about her as he did, he wouldn't permit anyone to make her look foolish.
So she donned a smile of sweet unconcern for the cameras; but, outwardly calm, inwardly she was in a turmoil of curiosity.
The introduction continued.
'People ask many things of Fantasy Woman: the simple, the outrageous, the ordinary, the bizarre, cheap or expensive. But no guest has ever asked for anything so easy to bestow and yet, he obviously thinks, and you the audience will surely agree, beyond price.'
The build up was making Gina uneasy and when the 'guest' came into sight, her unease grew. It was that man. A superstitious shudder cooled her spine. It was almost as if she'd conjured him up.
He was within inches of her now, broad, brown, powerfully built, exuding masculine virility, his slacks and shirt deceptively casual. He hadn't bought them in any chain store, or off the peg!
As she renewed her acquaintance with that square-cut jaw, looked once more into those glinting dark eyes, Gina felt again that almost primitive surge of fear. She wanted to turn and run. Instead she forced herself to remember who and Where she was, parted her lips in a stiff parody of her usual welcoming smile and, with only an instant's hesitation, extended her slim hand.
'Good evening, Mr ...?' So far had they deviated from the norm, she didn't even know her guest's name.
He smiled and Gina, fascinated against her will, saw that only one corner of his mouth curved upwards, a crooked, tantalisingly attractive smile.
'You're not the only one who prefers anonymity.' His deep voice had a mocking note. 'Call me Mr X.'
He watched her work that one out, amused at her annoyance which was obvious from her physical reactions, a straightening of the spine, an upward surge of that chin, rather than from any facial expression, which was camouflaged by the mask. How would she respond? Had she the spirit to retaliate in public? If she incurred the censure of her sponsors it could make his job rather easier. But it didn't really matter. Things would go his way in the end. They always did.
If he wanted to play it this way, it was OK by Gina. She had no wish to know anything further about him. By force of will, she kept the pleasant expression pinned to her face.
'And what can we do for you, Mr X?' She laid sarcastic stress on his pseudonym, to let him know she ridiculed his pretension.
'What you can do for me ...' he paused for effect, 'is to give me just one kiss.'
To a man, the audience drew an anticipatory breath, but an aghast Gina acted instinctively. She stepped backwards. The cameras followed her movement. So did he.
'A very simple request, surely?' he suggested, undertones in his dark, resonant voice that made her shudder. His whole aura had suddenly become one of brooding sensuality, and she knew she would give almost anything not to have to agree to his demand. Why had he made it? What did a kiss from her mean to him?
'An unusual request,' she parried. If it had been any other man, she would have been totally unconcerned; his request would have been granted by now, the kiss casually bestowed, the incident over, herself unaffected by it. But within Gina, something screamed a warning. She didn't want this man to kiss her. For she knew instinctively that she wouldn't be the one doing the kissing. This man was one hundred per cent male, very much the type to take the initiative.
Tod waited. He knew she wanted to refuse. Dared she? It didn't matter to him either way; it was merely a preliminary to getting under her guard, getting to know more about her, discovering whether she was as suitable as his secretary had suggested; and he paid his staff to be right, to give him reliable information. He frowned slightly. Marcha wouldn't approve of what he was doing. But what was one kiss bestowed in the interests of research, in Marcha's interests if only she would accept the fact? Suddenly he longed to have her back from her protracted holiday, this business concluded, to get on with the real purpose of his life.
'Well?' he challenged. 'What are you afraid of? Have you never kissed a man before?'
The audience tittered.
As he'd guessed, Gina wanted to refuse. But she couldn't. Fantasy Woman never denied a request. They were going out live, millions of viewers waiting expectantly to see her perform.. If she turned down something so simple, her' popularity, the show's popularity, would plummet, the viewing ratings would drop, the sponsors would be furious and the newspapers would have a field day, leaping upon the unprecedented incident with delight.
She gave one desperate look towards the side of the set, at Jimmy. He was also making frantic 'winding up' signals. They were running out of time. It was now or never.
Drawing a shaky breath, she moved in, placed her hands on the tall man's shoulders, looked up at him enquiringly.
For a second, Tod stared into the apprehensive eyes, shadowed by the mask. He could not discern their colour. He smiled and once more Gina felt the goose steps traverse her spine. Then the smile was blotted out, as his dark head swooped down towards her and hard, muscled arms clamped about her with a relentless pressure, so that her breasts were painfully entrapped against his ribcage. She was aware of many things in that moment, of the soft appreciative murmurs of the audience, the heat of the studio lights, the pleasant, tangy smell of male aftershave as his hand traced the silky skin that covered her spine. Then his mouth captured hers, hard, possessive, inescapable, the kiss burning in its intensity.
Shockwave after shockwave jerked her body in a totally unexpected, spasmodic response to the eroticism of his kiss, of his body moulded to hers. Being pressed so tightly against him was evocative of p
ast sensations she'd believed banished, forgotten. But the ache in her loins was unmistakably familiar. Familiar, yet different. Keith had never made her feel like this ... abandoned. She felt shame that such sensations could be aroused by a total stranger.
She was not the only one surprised by the effect of that kiss. Tod had gone into this embrace in a spirit of cynicism, it being his belief that a woman was more easily won over to a cause by an appeal, not to reason, on which most women were short, but to her sensuality. It wouldn't trouble him unduly if Gina Darcy responded favourably to the proposal he intended to put to her, just because she was attracted to him, rather than to the proposition. He'd been the victor in many such encounters and it was easy enough, after the battle was won, to depress any pretensions the woman might have. So it was with incredulity that he found himself strangely affected by the feel of Gina in his arms, the warmth and scent of her, the sudden, pliant softness of her body, as, against her will, she responded to him. Unexpectedly, he felt his body stir and, instinctively, he drew her closer, deepening the kiss.
Dimly, Gina heard the whistles and catcalls from the audience, realised that the kiss had gone on far too long, was becoming too intense. The theme music was playing. They were no longer on camera. Somehow she tore herself free of him and wondered that her legs should hold her, so limp and lifeless they felt.
'You swine!' she whispered. 'How dare you take advantage of me like that with the whole country watching?'
Tod was swifter to recover his composure. Thank God Marcha was abroad and not likely to be of that number. She certainly wouldn't have appreciated the little scene. And she'd been wrong about one thing; Gina Darcy certainly wasn't frigid.
'Really?' he drawled. 'You do rate your popularity high!'
Unable to utter another syllable, she swept past him, making for the sanctuary of her dressing-room. She passed Jimmy without even a look. He was to blame, too. He had known. He could have warned her. He was as bad as the rest of them. All he thought about was ratings, his wretched show. God, how she despised all men, especially this one! 'Mr 'X' was trouble! It didn't occur to her to wonder why her reaction to this particular man was so violent, why she had so arbitrarily assessed his character.
Later, at home, after a shower and a meal, she had calmed down a little, could look at the incident more rationally. She had taken out most of her anger on Jimmy during the drive home, but now that anger had evaporated, she felt curiously empty, drained.
'He went too far!' she'd raged. 'It was like being publicly raped.'
Jimmy had done his best to placate her. The item was by special request of the sponsors, he'd said, and he hadn't seen any real harm in it. After all, what was a kiss? Though even while he spoke the words, he knew he could almost hate the self-styled Mr X; would have given anything to be himself the recipient of Gina's kiss.
'OK. So he did make a meal of it,' he soothed, 'but, as a red-blooded male myself, I can't say I blame him, and maybe he didn't know the cameras had stopped rolling.'
'Oh, he knew,' Gina seethed. 'He knew!'
What was a kiss, Jimmy had said. Before tonight, Gina would have answered, 'absolutely nothing', that a man's kiss was as unmoving as that of a maiden aunt. But she couldn't claim that now. Mr X was a past master of sensuality. She prayed the cameras had stopped filming before that moment when he'd used his tongue as a weapon to pierce her lips, probing, inciting her to unwilling response. She prayed the camera hadn't picked up the instinctive movements of her body, the heat which had flushed her face and throat, as she knew, for the first time in over a year, the wild compulsion of physical desire.
She couldn't fathom his motive, but she hoped to goodness he was satisfied, that she need never encounter him again; and yet, all evening, she found her thoughts returning to the incident, as a tongue returns to worry an aching tooth, her body reacting to the mental stimulus.
It was a week or two before Gina could relax, convince herself that Mr X was not going to make any further unheralded appearances; and then, annoyingly, she found herself wondering why he had abandoned his campaign of irritation, just as much as she wondered why he had ever begun it. Life, though peaceful once more, seemed suddenly ordinary, the programme even more lifeless and mundane.
She was relaxing in bed one Sunday evening, when the telephone shrilled.
'Gina?' It was Jimmy. No one else had her private number, which was only to be used in case of emergency. 'Gina, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I've just had a call from one of the sponsors. It seems they're calling a special meeting, tomorrow, early. I wanted to make sure you'd be on time.'
Gina felt unreasonable irritation; he should know she was always punctual for briefings. She had been a businesswoman before she'd become a television personality and, in business, time was money.
'Of course I'll be there,' she said. 'What's it all about?'
'I don't know.' Jimmy sounded uneasy. 'But somehow I sense the winds of change.'
'Change?' Her tone became sharper. 'You don't mean they're thinking of taking the show off or replacing me in the series?' It wouldn't be disaster financially speaking, but it would be a blow to her self-esteem, her belief in her popularity, a setback to ambition.
'I honestly don't know.' Jimmy sounded unhappy. 'I wish I did. But whatever it is, I'll be there, rooting for you.'
'Thanks, and thanks for warning me.' Slowly she replaced the receiver and sank back against frilled, pastel-blue pillowcases. Her mind furiously active, she went over the past two or three shows, seeking for flaws which could have made the sponsors dissatisfied with her. Her fan mail was as steady as ever. The press had been favourable. Was there any significance in the fact that she'd been presenting the show for exactly six months? The current series was ended, and her predecessor had only just completed six months when Gina replaced her ... though she had retired voluntarily. The public knew nothing of this. The two girls were sufficiently alike in colouring and stature for the substitution to remain unnoticed. Was there another tall, statuesque redhead somewhere, waiting to step into Gina's shoes? Ever practical, she began to plan ahead for this contingency. Her own business still awaited her, ably run by a deputy. She could always go back and take up the reins once more. Business had proved to be a panacea before ...
Unable to return to nursing, Gina had told her husband she intended to look for another job, but it had been difficult to find something sufficiently interesting and stimulating. Then, one day, waiting patiently in a shop while a foreigner was being served, the idea was presented to her. Mechanically, she had noted the price of the item the man bought, simply because she was about to ask for the same thing. She was surprised when the figure asked of her was so much less.
'Surely there must be some mistake?' she'd said, to find her query treated with callous amusement.
'They've got plenty of money, their sort,' the assistant told her. 'They can afford to pay more. They don't quibble.'
'No,' Gina had retorted, unable to contain her disgust and indignation. 'Because they don't realise they're being ripped off.'
The more she brooded, the more she disliked this attitude that overseas visitors were fair game for overcharging. Out of this sense of indignation grew the idea of an advisory service for foreigners, whether with or without a fortune to spend, but with no way of knowing if they were getting true value. What both kinds needed was an agent to see they were not cheated.
With the money an elderly aunt had left her and a personal loan from the bank, Gina had rented a modest, but centrally situated office. A lot of money went in advertising, but it paid dividends. Soon it became known that the GD Agency would get you an honest deal, would do its best to satisfy any request, however bizarre. 'We don't claim to perform miracles, just the next best thing,' was Gina's slogan and it wasn't long before she'd moved to larger premises, taken on several assistants upon whom she impressed her own strict standards of honesty.
Yes, if her television career was about to take a downward swoop, she c
ould always return to business, she thought, as, true to her promise, she arrived promptly at the Television Centre. She had risen early to take more than usual care with her appearance, since there was always the chance that she might be fighting for her job.
Briefly, she took in the presence of several opulent-looking limousines that distinguished the car park by their presence. The 'Big Three' were here. Jimmy's small office was cramped still further by the presence of the three men who were the programme's sponsors. Three? This morning there were four formally suited figures; and, with a sense of outrage, Gina recognised the fourth; her persecutor, Mr X. With a gesture that was instinctive, she threw up her hands to protect her unmasked face, demanding,
'What the hell are you doing here?'
There was a pregnant silence, during which she heard the uneasy clearing of throats, and then one of the sponsors, a white-haired, elderly man, was reproving her.
'Miss Darcy! That's no way to address Mr Fallon.'
Fallon? It meant nothing to her. A week or two ago he had been merely another guest on her show. How had he conned his way into the select circle of those who knew her real name?
'Mr Tod Fallon is a new shareholder in TLM Enterprises, a considerable shareholder,' he emphasised. 'And since he has never met you, I suggested that he attend this meeting. He has a few questions to ask.'
Oh, yes, Gina thought ironically, Mr Benson might think the suggestion was his, but she knew who had brainwashed him into making it.
'Actually, Mr Fallon and I have met before,' she said coldly. 'Twice. On both occasions, he made a considerable nuisance of himself and made some very insulting suggestions. If Mr Fallon had a financial interest in me, why couldn't he have said so instead of subjecting me to a third degree, just before an important filming session; instead of infiltrating his way on to the show? Doesn't he realise just how long a waiting list there is to appear with Fantasy Woman? And yet he uses his influence to take up a place. Besides, his questions could just as easily have been answered by any of you.' She looked around at the three men and was disconcerted to see that they all looked uneasy.
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