One Final Step

by Stephanie Doyle

  He would lie, cheat and steal all over again to hold on to her.

  Poor Madeleine. She didn’t know who she was dealing with.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “MADDY!”

  Madeleine ducked her head a bit and adjusted her sunglasses, confident they covered most of her face as she approached the sidewalk café on Rodeo Drive. Her old friend and coworker was the only person she would ever let get away with calling her by the old nickname.

  “You channeling Jackie O or what?”

  “Peg,” Madeleine said as she reached the table and kissed her friend on the cheek. “One might hope for a little discretion.”

  “From me? Then it has been too long since we’ve seen each other. Sit down. I’ve ordered you an appletini. You’re going to love it.”

  She was going to hate it. She preferred wine to hard alcohol but there would be no convincing Peg. Since she was here to ask a favor, she made the politically correct decision to play along.

  “Look at you.” Peg ran her finger up and down to indicate Madeleine’s choice of ensemble. “Very southern California chic.”

  “At home I’m always in business suits and I’m never recognized. I didn’t think I would see a lot of those out here so I wanted to blend.”

  Madeleine wore an expensive solid-blue top matched with white capris and flat sandals that really cost too much for anyone to justify but she did, anyway. When she’d bought them she’d felt slightly wicked. She paired the ensemble with a patterned scarf around her hair. And the big sunglasses made her feel sufficiently camouflaged.

  “You look good. Real good. More relaxed. I would never say this to your face before…wait, actually, I would but I never got the chance to say it…you looked like hell back in the day. Too much pressure and too much stress is not good for the complexion.”

  “Back in the day” was code for the campaign trail. When Madeleine had been molding a man to be president and Peg had been working with the press to get the message out. After winning the election Peg stayed on for two more years as junior press secretary. She left when she was given the opportunity to be a producer on television’s more popular newsmagazine show, Sunday Night Hour. Of course Peg had been upset for her when the scandal broke. They were friends. But not so outraged to leave her job. Not that Madeleine would have ever expected her to. When you worked so hard to make it to the top, quitting on moral grounds wasn’t an option.

  Quitting because you could land a much more lucrative deal in the private sector was completely understandable.

  “I mean it,” she continued. “You were skinny and drawn. I know what you did to make that guy president and I think you paid for it. Physically and emotionally. It’s no wonder your decision-making skills sucked when the jerk put the moves on you. You were vulnerable and he knew it.”

  “It wasn’t lack of sleep and a bad diet, Peg.” If only Madeleine could have blamed it on such things. “It was flat-out stupidity. But I don’t want to talk about that. I’m here to talk about my favor.”

  The waiter arrived with their drinks and Peg carefully lifted the martini glass so as to not spill a drop even as she waved her other hand for Madeleine to continue.

  “I want you to feature someone on an upcoming episode.”

  Peg put the glass down. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”

  “Michael Langdon.”

  “Michael Langdon? The race-car guy? With the white spiky hair and glasses.”

  “That was him. Yes. He has since become a car designer. Specialty stuff mostly, but now he’s developed something new and innovative for the mass market. He’s trying to partner with one of the major manufacturers to roll out his concept and to do that we’re trying to change his image a bit so they’ll think he’s worth the risk.”

  Peg’s smile was infectious. “You’re working again.”

  Madeleine expected this. To delay she took a sip of her own drink. It was too sweet so she set it back down. “I’ve been working for the last five years.”

  “Don’t give me that bull. I know what you’ve been doing for Ben and it looked a lot more like hiding than working. Speaking of Ben…how is he?”

  “Fighting.”

  “Yeah, he would do that. When I heard he was sick and how serious it was, I thought if he dies it’s going to be like God dying. He’s connected to so many people in so many ways. Once we lose him all those connections will break apart and we’ll all be left on our own.”

  “He’s not gone yet.” Madeleine tried to believe that his fight was stronger than his sickness. But the longer the treatments went on with no confirmation from the doctors that they were working, it was getting harder to do so.

  “Right. Okay. Back to your real job. You’re turning Michael Langdon into what? Not a political candidate.”

  “No. A serious person. Someone who is trustworthy.”

  Peg laughed. “Honey, the only thing serious about that guy is he’s seriously hot.”

  “Michael Langdon is a respectable and solid businessman. He’s an entrepreneur with creative new ideas for the auto industry. An environmentalist who’s concerned about our dependence on foreign oil and believes his electric car can change that while also offering the average American an affordable option.”

  “Interesting. Keep going.”

  They were interrupted as the waiter came over to take their lunch order and as soon as he left Madeleine continued. “He’s everything you want to see in a success story. Raised in poverty, turned to crime, paid his debt to society then reformed his life. He’s built himself up on his talent and brains. Now he wants to give something back.”

  “And make money.”

  “Of course make money,” Madeleine allowed. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t do both.”

  “What do you think about him? Gut feeling. Winner? Loser?”

  Gut feeling was a game they used to play a lot in the past. Any time they were working with a candidate’s adviser, or hiring staff or dealing with the media. Gut feeling was a simple up-or-down vote that encompassed everything. Good guy, bad guy. Smart guy, dumb guy. Winner, loser.

  Madeleine’s gut was completely convinced. Which wasn’t like her. She used to be more cautious and make her decisions more logically, based on facts and statistics. Despite having very little of either, she believed he was who he said he was. She hoped her belief wasn’t because she wanted him to be who he said he was. Because she wanted to be his friend. “Winner.”

  “Very interesting. Madeleine Kane thinks there is more to Michael Langdon than meets the eye. Well, hell, yes, I want to interview him. Do I get you, too?”

  “Outside of a handful of people, which now includes you, no one knows I’m working for him. And it will stay that way. Won’t it, Peg?”

  Peg’s lips twitched as the veiled threat registered and was acknowledged. Madeleine held on to a lot of secrets for a lot of people. Peg was among that number.

  “My lips are sealed. Now let’s talk fun stuff. What are you doing tonight?”

  “Nothing.” The idea of maybe doing dinner and drinks with Peg appealed to her. Michael would be at the Drearson party surrounded by countless starlets. It would help take her mind off what could be happening with any one of them.

  Of course, her concern was purely from a professional perspective. She had to hope he behaved himself according to the image they were trying to project for him. Being seen stumbling drunk outside the party with three women on his arm would not help.

  Although somehow that image, while nearly iconic for him, didn’t match up with the man she knew. The man who told Charlene Merritt thanks, but no thanks.

  “Great, then we’re going to a party.”

  “What party?”

  “The hottest one in town. Academy-Award-winning director and producer Tom Drearson.”

  Madeleine nearly snorted. “I’m so not going to that party.”

  “Why not?”

  “Hello? Everyone in town is going to be there. Including Michael La
ngdon. It’s why I got him an invitation. There will be a ton of press and coverage.”

  Peg rolled her eyes. “Yes, for real stars. Not us. Drearson always has a backdoor path available for the people who want to bypass the crowds. In the past there has been a famous actor or two who preferred to keep the sexual orientation of his date confidential. And then there is us, the people who the press couldn’t care less about. Trust me, no one will see us and once we’re inside there is no media at all.”

  Madeleine found herself hedging. When was the last time she’d been to a party like that?

  Easy answer. Seven years ago. Seven years, when it all came crashing down and she’d stopped living.

  She wasn’t sure what was happening to her. Maybe it was Ben getting sick, or maybe she was flat-out bored. Or maybe it was meeting Michael and feeling excited about something again. But she was feeling restless. Like she couldn’t stay inside her skin anymore.

  Seven years…maybe it was time to accept her self-appointed sentence in solitary confinement might finally be up. But just because she could mentally tell herself that there was nothing wrong with attending a party, that didn’t mean she could actually summon up the courage to go.

  “Come on. You know you want to.”

  She did want to. Like she’d wanted to sit with Michael and have a glass of wine. But she was starting to sense a dangerous pattern. As if maybe the rules were no longer working because she was tired of following them. She felt like a dieter who had gone too long only eating carrot sticks and suddenly wanted a slice of cake. The temptation was almost impossible to resist.

  “You really promise me that we can get in without being seen?”

  “Madeleine, I hate to break it to you, but even if you were seen, I’m not sure anyone would care. I mean, really, all that scandal stuff died years ago. How long has it been?”

  “Seven years.” The number resonated in her head like a gong going off as it counted out seven beats.

  “In the world of today’s media that’s a lifetime ago.”

  “I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “We can get in without being seen,” Peg assured her. “You can always wear your camouflage gear as a backup plan.”

  Madeleine fidgeted with her sunglasses. One drink with Michael hadn’t resulted in them tumbling into bed. One party shouldn’t hurt, either. And damn it, she really wanted that slice of cake. “Okay. I’m in. What time?”

  “Nineish?”

  Madeleine took a deep breath as their food arrived. “Well, then, we better carb up now because I’m going to need a dress and I can’t think of a better place to look than on Rodeo Drive, can you?”

  “Ooooh,” Peg groaned. “Look out Pretty Woman, here we come.”

  * * *

  MICHAEL TILTED HIS head lower to hear what the woman was saying. He was almost convinced she was whispering so he would have to bend his body closer to her. That thought was confirmed when she ran her hand over his neck and in his hair.

  “You want to take me home?”

  Michael pulled away from the young blonde thing with the large plastic breasts. “We were just introduced.”

  Like that mattered in Hollywood. He had money. He had connections, otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten an invitation to this party, and she wanted to use her body and pretty face to her best advantage.

  “So?”

  “Exactly. If you’ll excuse me, I need another drink.”

  He walked away without offering to fetch her one and knew he was being rude. In the past couple of weeks, on his grand tour of respectability, he had imagined how a gentleman might behave, how Madeleine would expect a gentleman to behave—and then tried to be that person. Walking abruptly away from the woman was decidedly unlike that person.

  He never would have walked away from Madeleine.

  On his way through the crowd toward one of the five bars that had been set up on the perimeter of the patio, Michael stopped.

  It was like he summoned her out of thin air. His very own party angel.

  Amongst the starlets she stood out like the North Star. Where they sparkled and glittered and showed off their skin and cleavage she stood brighter and more solid in a simple black dress that reflected elegance and class. She was the queen in a land of fairy princesses.

  That feeling of being drawn to her flooded him. If he looked too long and too hard at her he might never be able to look away again. His brain screamed that he wanted her so loud that he wondered if he wasn’t actually shouting out to everyone around him.

  No one moved or turned, so he imagined he was safe. No, she couldn’t have heard him because she started to walk toward him.

  “Hi.”

  The simple greeting snapped him out of his crazy thoughts.

  “Hi. This is a surprise. If I thought for a second you would come to something like this I would have invited you.”

  “But you know I would never have come with you… at least not as your date. I sort of snuck in the back door. No photographers.” Madeleine pointed over her shoulder to an overly tall woman with glasses, standing at the bar. “Peg Neely got me in. She’s my contact at Sunday Night Hour. She wants to meet you. If she likes your story she’s agreed to consider doing a feature on you for the show.”

  When she’d run the idea by him the first time he hadn’t been crazy about it. Those types of news shows did their homework. While his prison record was common knowledge there were other areas of his life he didn’t want people digging in too closely.

  For the most part, Michael had cleaned up any loose ends that had to do with his time in prison. Money was a powerful motivator for people to keep quiet.

  Still there could be stragglers.

  Since he didn’t want to communicate any of the reasons for his reluctance to Madeleine he decided to let her go ahead and try. Just because she was going to pitch him as an interview didn’t mean they would accept the idea.

  He’d forgotten how incredibly good she was at her job.

  “You’re sure this is the right track?” he hedged.

  “I’m positive. You told me on the flight out here that your people were getting better responses from the CEOs regarding a partnership. No one is dismissing you outright, which is a start. You take your passion and put it out front on the national stage, it should seal the deal.”

  “Because of you.”

  Madeleine shook her head. “Because of you. Come meet Peg. You’ll like her.”

  He took her arm to stop her from leaving. He liked holding her. Any part of her. “You know about my past.”

  “Of course. I can’t imagine spending any length of time in prison can be considered a good thing, but it does add to your narrative.”

  He let go of her arm. It added to his narrative. He’d never heard it described that way before.

  Instantly Madeleine reached out and squeezed his hand. “Hey, I’m sorry. That was so insensitive of me. I used to do it all the time. Trivialize people’s harsh realities when I was putting them in the context of a picture I was trying to create. I once told the president he looked like a mean version of Mr. Rogers anytime he wore sweaters and that he probably frightened children.”

  Michael laughed and watched the expression on Madeleine’s face change. She had started to laugh with him but quickly realized what she was laughing about and stopped.

  “That’s the first time you’ve done that, isn’t it? Talk about him as a fond memory.”

  She met his eyes and he could see the answer in them. “Yes. I try so hard to not think about…him at all. But it slipped out.”

  Michael thought that was a good thing. It meant on some level she trusted him. He liked the idea of her trusting him because it was how he would start finding a way around those boundaries of hers.

  He could see her thinking about it too much, so he changed the topic.

  “Come dance with me.”

  A band and a dance floor had been constructed on another level of the backyard area. Michae
l could hear the music drifting over the sounds of conversation. It was a risky thing, bringing her close, holding her in his arms. But the idea latched on and wouldn’t let go.

  She was already shaking her head. “I don’t think…”

  “Nothing can happen on a dance floor, Madeleine.” He took a step closer and realized she was still holding his hand, hadn’t let it go all this time—and still didn’t even as he moved closer. “All we can do is sway back and forth to the music. Nothing dangerous about that.”

  “People would see.”

  “People would see two people dancing. Most people don’t even know who I am without my white spiky hair. And you, in that dress, with your hair loose around your shoulders, you don’t look like Madeleine Kane.”

  “No?”

  “No. You’ll put your arm around my waist. If you want you can rest your head on my shoulder…”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Is that what friends do when they dance?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never danced with a friend. I would like to try. With you.”

  “Michael…I don’t…”

  “What have we here?” The tall woman with the glasses and the long face approached them. “Is Maddy actually touching another human being?”

  Instantly Madeleine dropped his hand and backed away. Michael instantly disliked the woman who approached them.

  “Peg, this is Michael. Michael, Peg Neely. She worked for the press secretary during the Marlin administration and now is a producer for Sunday Night Hour.”

  The woman, who was older than Madeleine by a few years, stuck out her hand. “I hear you’re creating a car that’s going to save the world.”

  “Save the world might be a reach. Save people a few bucks on gas sounds more like it.”

  “Ah, but that’s not as television-worthy.”

  Peg looked him up and down and he felt himself being assessed. Like he was the car and she was kicking the tires and lifting the hood. He felt naked and didn’t like it. Holding out his arms he spun around, then opened up the button on his sport coat and spread it wide.