Stepping back, pulling her arm out of his grasp, she nodded and dropped down to retrieve the spilled items.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” He bent down to help her. She glanced up at him, a mere glance that seemed to take him in from head to toe, but she said nothing. He could imagine what she was thinking. His hair was wet and mussed, and he needed a shave. The only thing covering him was a pair of nylon shorts and a grimy towel. Sweat glistened on his entire body, a body which at the moment was still heaving from his workout on the roof.
“I have to talk to you,” he said, awkwardly holding a handful of her things.
She held open her purse, he dropped everything inside. “About what?”
“About what happened to Donna Lake.”
“What’s your involvement in this? Why were you at the station that day?” She hastily slung her purse over her shoulder and started downstairs. “Never mind, it’s none of my business.”
“Yes, it is,” he said, going down the steps and blocking her way. “It’s important we talk.”
“Talk to the police.”
A elderly man wearing baggy pants, slippers, and a pajama top opened the door to 2D and looked out. “Davie, it’s gone and done it again. The sink in the John’s plugged. Awful smelling stuff coming outta there.”
“I’ll be right there, Dutch,” John said to the man. To Regina he said, “Please.”
She maneuvered around him and made it down another step before he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You’re in danger.”
In her eyes he saw fear intermingle with caution. “Why don’t you tell the police?” she said.
His silence seemed to confirm her initial fear. She jerked her arm away and continued on.
“Mrs. Van Raven,” he said in a quiet voice, “I’m trying to warn you.”
Another voice called up to him from the ground floor. “Oh, Johnnie, there you are. Come down.” His aunt, standing at her open door with Mrs. Dobos and a slender young woman with blond hair, motioned to him.
“Oh Christ,” he muttered, as his gaze went from Mrs. Dobos’s smiling grandniece, Ilona, to the retreating back of Regina Van Raven. Why now?
Half an hour after Regina arrived at the station, Kristy called. “Mom, I forgot to tell you I have a photo session for the pageant at four today. I won’t be home till after seven.”
A tightness worked at Regina’s chest. “Honey, about the contest. Things have changed. It’s too—”
“No, Mother. Nothing’s changed. Mrs. Nash is picking me up, so stop worrying. Talk to you later.”
An hour later Regina was summoned to the office of KSCO’s executive producer. Maxwell Conner stood behind his desk and Nolan stood at the opposite side of the room. Their faces looked set, their eyes hard.
She was barely inside when Max said, “I want you to go on for Donna this week.”
Regina saw Nolan’s jaw tighten.
Turning to Nolan, Max continued, “If we don’t have a live body in there, then the show goes off the air. Regina knows the format better than anyone. We know she looks good on the tube.” Without looking at her, Max held up a palm before she could react to his last remark. “Spare me the sexist crap, Regina—she can walk and talk and ask questions.”
“She can’t replace Donna.”
“No one’s saying she will. She’ll hold it together until Donna comes back.”
“I want that in writing,” Nolan said.
“I don’t have to give you shit, mister. I want Donna back as much as anyone.”
Max turned to Regina. “I’ve got the perfect show. You remember that psychic we had on last year, Pandora-some- thing-or-other?” Regina nodded. “Well, we do an entire program with her. We set up phone lines to take calls from the viewers, and she gives them psychic readings over the phone. What do you think?”
“You’re talking live?” she asked.
“Yeah, live. Is that a problem?”
Regina looked at both men incredulously, then laughed, short and without humor. “I don’t believe this. It’s typical, however, considering the way things are run around here.” Max stared at her, perplexed. “Am I being promoted, shanghaied, used, or abused? No one bothered to ask me how I feel about this.”
“I thought you’d be flattered,” Max said.
“I’ve never worked in front of a camera before.”
“There’s a first time for everyone.”
“Not everyone has to carry a thirty-minute talk show the first time out ... and live yet.”
“I told you she couldn’t do it,” Nolan said sourly. “It’s too risky anyway. Donna never did a live show.”
“I have faith in you, Regina.”
“What’s my status now? —if I choose to do it,” Regina said, ignoring Nolan.
“In addition to producer, you’re also talent. Salary for both, naturally. As co-producer, Nolan will help do whatever has to be done to get the show running on all cylinders again.”
Regina stepped to the window to think. She would have flatly refused had Donna not already asked her to go on for her. Donna, along with everyone at the station, was acutely aware that ‘City Gallery’ had become an instant local success because of the tragedy. Even with the rerun, the ratings had skyrocketed. Tragedy or not, high ratings couldn’t be ignored.
“I’ll do it on one condition.”
“Yes?” Max asked.
She turned to Nolan. Their eyes met and held. “That I do it my own way.” She looked back to Max.
Max glanced at Nolan. “You got it. If you need anything, I’m here.” He sat down at his desk. “Oh, Regina, do you have any objections to letting the makeup gal have free rein?”
“You want a face?”
“I want talent uppermost. I’ll leave the rest up to you.”
With a thin smile, she turned and left the office.
At her desk again, Regina pulled the file with the roster of guests, past and future. She ran her finger down the list of names, stopping at Pandora Cudahay. Pandora never failed to be entertaining. The psychic, a serious, bookish-looking woman in her mid-fifties, had last been on the show shortly after assisting the police in finding a missing child.
Suddenly the realization of what she had just done struck her. She had actually agreed to stand in for Donna on a live show. Was she insane? What the hell, as a first-time television talk show hostess, why not go all out?
After calling the psychic and setting up the program, she spotted the list of names for the Miss Classic contestants and, before she could change her mind, she called Tammy and Amelia and invited each to lunch that afternoon. She paused at Corinne’s name, then closed the file.
Leaning back in her chair, she thought about her encounter with John Davie that morning. Until that day at the station, she had never laid eyes on the man. What was his involvement? What did he know? Perhaps she should talk to him.
An hour later, sitting at a window table in Perry’s Bar and Grill, Regina looked up to see Tammy, in a black miniskirt and an off-the-shoulder red knit top, approaching .
“Sorry I’m late, Regina, Gary called as I was leaving the house.” Tammy dropped into a chair. “I had to talk to him.”
“Is there a chance for reconciliation?”
“Gary wants to, of course, but ... I’m not sure I’m ready yet,” she said, avoiding Regina’s eyes.
Regina sensed she was lying.
Tammy changed the subject, “So how’s Donna?”
“She’s doing very well.”
“My God, I just can’t believe that someone would do that to Donna. I mean, what’d she ever do to deserve that? What about her face ... is she ... you know ... ? I want to visit, but I couldn’t if it’s as bad as Corinne’s.” Tammy finally wound down. “Is it?”
“No, it’s not as bad as Corinne’s.”
Tammy pulled in an exaggerated breath and let it out with a sigh. “There is a God. Christ, when I think how close I was standing to her. Some of that stuff could’ve splashed onto me—oh, J
esus, that sounded awful. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It’s okay, Tammy.” Regina looked out the window to see Amelia, wearing saffron yellow slacks and a matching sweater, crossing the street toward them. She was the only one Regina knew who made walking look like a painful yet necessary experience.
Entering, Amelia wove her way around tables covered with blue checkered cloths. When she reached their table she paused, looking around as though waiting for someone to pull out her chair. When no one came forth, Amelia gracefully seated herself, “Regina, sweetie, how nice of you to invite me to lunch. How is Donna?”
“The doctor tells her she’s very lucky.”
“Lucky? Hah!” Amelia exclaimed. “The woman makes a living by her looks. How can she possibly endure knowing she’s going to be horribly disfigured?”
“She has a husband and two children,” Regina said. “And many friends.”
A waiter took their order. Caesar Salad and a vodka Gibson for Amelia. Vegetable soup and white wine for Tammy. A Reuben sandwich, fries, and iced tea for Regina. The two women eyed her with obvious resentment.
“It’s the only meal I’ll have today,” she said defensively.
“I have to pip,” Tammy said. “Anyone else?” The others declined. “I took a diuretic this morning. Bloated, y’know. Can’t stop going.” She left the table and hurried off to the restroom.
“That girl is on a campaign to kill herself,” Amelia said, looking after Tammy. “Bet she takes laxatives, as well.”
“Do you think she has an eating disorder?”
Amelia shrugged, dismissing Tammy. She placed her elbows on the table, her chin on her clasped hands, and leaned in toward Regina. “Now that Donna’s ... well, you know—what’s become of the show?”
“It’ll go on.”
“Without her?”
“Until she’s able to return.”
“Is KSCO auditioning for the spot?”
“No.”
“Look, Regina, I’d be very interested in doing ‘City Gallery’. I’ve been at Channel 3 for years.”
“That’s a public broadcasting station. You’re a volunteer.”
“It’s television. I’m photogenic, articulate, and I know people in this town . . . important people.”
“I thought you were in business for yourself. What was it? Global Enterprises?”
Amelia nodded and sipped her drink. “Fletcher Kincade, my business partner, will operate GME, leaving me free to involve myself in other endeavors and, of course, expand my horizons.”
“I see.” Regina would just bet that Kincade was the man with Amelia that day in the studio, and she’d also bet they were more than business partners.
“Regina, you must have a measure of pull at the station. What are you, assistant something or other?”
“Co-producer.”
“Nolan is producer.”
“Nolan and I are co-producers.”
“My, my. Then you certainly have connections.”
Regina bit into a breadstick.
“I’m not going to beat around the bush—”
“You were never one to do that,” Regina slipped in.
“Regina, I want that job. Can you help me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I know we’ve had our differences.”
“We don’t like each other,” Regina said.
“We don’t like each other, but that shouldn’t get in the way of business.”
“Amelia,” Regina said, losing patience with this conversation, “the position is already filled.”
“How firm is it?”
“Firm enough. You’re looking at Donna’s fill-in.” The flabbergasted look on Amelia’s face made Regina smile. “A vote of confidence, how reassuring.”
“They can’t be serious?”
Regina began to laugh. “Oh, Amelia, it’s so refreshing in this world of false flattery and bullshit, to find someone who’s not afraid to speak her mind.” She raised her iced tea glass in a mock salute.
“This is definite?”
“Nothing in this business is etched in stone. You can, of course, call on Mr. Lake and request an audition.”
Amelia’s only response was a slight lifting at the corners of her mouth as she put her glass to her lips. She sipped, put down the glass carefully, looked at Regina, and asked, “Then why did you invite Tammy and me to lunch today?”
Tammy returned to the table and sat down, emanating an overpowering cloud of Tabu.
“I apologize to both of you if I led you to believe that we’re looking for a replacement hostess for ‘City Gallery’.” Regina toyed with her utensils. “I asked you to lunch to find out if either of you have received any threats lately?” She glanced up to see Amelia and Tammy staring at each other oddly.
“Why would we get threats?” Tammy asked.
“We had two anonymous calls at the station before Donna was attacked, warning us not to air that show.”
“I don’t get it,” Tammy said.
Amelia was quicker to pick up Regina’s meaning. “You aren’t implying ...? Absolutely not. What happened to Donna was some sort of vendetta. There’s no reason to believe--”
“How can you be so positive. Unless, of course, you know who did it and why.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
The two women studied each other.
“Hey, you two, what’s going on here?” Tammy said. “What are you talking about?”
“I only asked if you’d had any threats,” Regina said to Amelia.
“No. Have you?”
“What kind of threats?” Tammy’s voice rose in alarm. “Tell me, please.”
Amelia whipped around to face Tammy, her lack of patience obvious. “It’s incredible. You haven’t gotten any brighter over the years. Regina is implying that whoever got to Donna wants to do the same to us.”
“I didn’t say that,” Regina objected.
“Well, what then?”
“It’s a possibility, that’s all. The station was warned. There may be other warnings.”
“Holy Mother of God,” Tammy said in a whisper, her face pale under the peeling skin. “I told Gary I thought the acid was meant for me, but I never really believed — oh, shit.”
The waiter brought their order and for many minutes they said nothing as each picked and poked at the food in front of her.
“Corinne ... now Donna,” Tammy said finally. “Both Miss Classic finalists. Both their lives destroyed. Oh, God, I can’t imagine anything on this earth more horrible than having your looks wiped away,” she snapped her fingers “just like that.”
“Well there are worse things,” Regina said.
“Oh really?” Amelia gulped her drink. She motioned for the waiter to bring another. “It’s bad enough knowing that one day our bodies will become saggy and boxlike, and our faces as wrinkled as a cheap cotton blouse, but at least there’s some degree of control over the aging process. If you want my opinion, I think Corinne did it. I think she did it out of spite, to punish us for being pretty when she’s not.”
“The thought crossed my mind,” Regina said. “And if that’s the case, why stop at Donna?”
Amelia chewed on her lower lip. She slowly nodded agreement.
“I was standing right next to Donna when it happened. Maybe instead of Donna it was supposed to be—oh shit,” Tammy whined. “I don’t like this. I wish to hell I hadn’t come today. You two are bumming me out.” She pushed her soup away, dug in her purse until she found a prescription bottle, shook out a tiny yellow pill, and washed it down with the wine.
“What do we do?” Amelia asked.
“I don’t know. Keep our eyes open, report anything unusual to the police. Move away. Aside from that, I don’t know.”
The furthest thing from her mind as she lay in Fletcher’s bed watching him kiss the soft, white skin of her inner thigh, was a threat or an attack. She had conveniently put the conversation at lunch out of her mind while h
er lover attacked her with his mouth, giving her a delicious tongue lashing.
She moaned, gripping Fletch’s hair as she squirmed on the damp sheets. Fletcher kissed a feverish path up her sweaty torso to her breasts, then his full mouth found hers as he thrust into her. He bucked and she matched his ride, staying with him. They rolled, turned, found new positions, new sensations, panting and heaving and crying out. They became twisted in the bed covers, pillows tucked beneath them. Fletcher climaxed first, but continued until Amelia, moments later, went over the edge. Then they collapsed back on the bed, their breathing labored. Amelia, heart pounding, gave herself a few minutes to savor the last vestige of the pleasure.
He nuzzled close to her. “Can your husband make you cry out like that?”
“Only from sheer frustration. God, Fletch, I detest him. I loathe the feel of his hands on my body. Thank God he can’t last long. Yet brief as his touch is, it’s just short of torture. Now you, my dear, know how to make love to a woman the proper way, the lasting way.”
He smiled. “It won’t be much longer.”
“So how’d it go with Tapperman?” she asked,
“Who?”
“Tapperman. RAM Electronics.”
“Great,” he said quickly. “We can count them in.”
She rolled over on her back. Looking down at herself, she noticed that her breasts seemed flatter and further apart in this position. She pulled the sheet up to her throat.
“When do we start moving into the office?” she asked.
“Two weeks, when the phones go in. The lease was contingent on the agency fixing a few things. Minor problems, but for that kind of money they damn well better have everything running well.”
“Business cards, stationery, office help?”
“All taken care of.”
“I feel detached somehow. Maybe if I had something to do.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for that after you make the break from the old fuck.”
“I guess.”
“I won’t be able to see you for a couple days. I have to go out of town.”
“Where? Why?” A jolt of anxiety hit her. With all that was going on in her life, the one and only person she felt secure with was talking about leaving.
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