Seducing His Heart

by Jean C. Joachim

  Tears of anger clouded her eyes. She sensed the heat in her cheeks. “Get away from me! You’re crazy!” Bess screamed. Several policemen pulled Mona, swearing and kicking, away. Another couple of men in blue spoke softly to Bess, who was rubbing her cheek.

  “Yeah, that’s assault. But she’s recently become a widow. You don’t want to press charges, do you? I mean, the decent thing to do is to forgive and forget…”

  Whit grabbed Bess by the arm and steered her to the van. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” He helped her into the back of the vehicle, got in, and shut the door.

  “Did you hear her? Oh my God! She’s crazy! Terry was separated, divorced or almost. I’m none of her business. She hit me!” Bess pulled out a mirror and examined her swollen lip.

  “Are you all right?”

  She burst into tears. “I’m mourning Terry, too. She’s not the only one.”

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  “Of course.”

  “You lied?”

  “I wanted to save her the humiliation. Besides, it’s nobody’s business what Terry and I did behind closed doors.”

  “You’re right, you’re right. Let’s head back, guys,” Whit said.

  Bess wiped her eyes with a tissue, but her skin still stung. The soundman handed back a cup with some ice and the remainder of his iced coffee. Bess held it to her face. They drove back in silence. She fell asleep, her head lolling against Whit’s shoulder.

  They pulled up in front of The Wellington. Bess got out and thanked the men. Crash opened the door, and the van pulled away from the curb.

  * * * *

  Whit was on edge when he got to the studio.

  “What did ya get? Anything interesting?” Sam asked the three-man crew while she shuffled through some papers attached to a clipboard.

  “Not much. Interview with the widow—” Whit began.

  “Great stuff!” Alan, the cameraman, cut him off.

  “Yeah. Awesome. Cat fight, tears…the whole shitload,” Barry, the soundman, added.

  “Fantastic! Let’s see,” Sam ushered them into her office.

  Whit grabbed Barry’s arm and pulled him aside. “What the hell do you mean?”

  “I got the whole thing between the baker-lady and the cop’s widow. I even had the sound going for the car ride home.”

  “You can’t use that!” Whit’s eyes widened.

  “I can and will. Actually, Sam will. Hell, she was in a news van. What did she think? We’d stop recording because she was telling the truth? How perfect! Her confession in the van with no sound interference.”

  “That was a private conversation. You can’t use that.”

  “Shoulda warned her, buddy. I got a nose for news. And Sam’s gonna love this.” He shoved Whit out of the way, entered Sam’s office, and closed the door.

  Whit burst in. “Some of this was a private conversation. Bess had no idea she was being taped. We can’t use this.”

  Sam shushed him and waved her hand. Alan and Barry got the tape rolling, and Whit’s mouth hung open. They had caught the entire fight, including Mona’s accusations and Bess’ denial. Then, they fast-forwarded to Bess’s tearful confession in the van.

  Whit’s heart raced. This’ll destroy her. She’s a public figure. They can’t run this.

  “Wow! Great job, boys. And they say nothing ever happens at a funeral. Hah!”

  “Sam, you can’t run this.”

  “Oh? And why not?”

  “You’ll ruin her career.”

  “She’s a baker. Who’ll care?”

  “Sam, didn’t you hear?” Alan asked. “She isn’t just a baker. She’s the baker on Baking with Bess. You know, the show on that shitty cable channel?”

  “Oh my God! She’s the same Bess?” Sam did a victory dance. “That’s a homerun, a touchdown, a hat trick…way to go! Get it cleaned up and ready to run. I want it on the six o’clock…tonight…re-run at eleven.”

  Alan and Barry pushed by Whit and left, congratulating themselves on the great coup. Whit was horrified. Sweat broke out under his arms. “You can’t use this, Sam.” He paced her office.

  “I can, and I will. Tonight. Be prepared, because you’re doing the story.”

  “I’m not. I refuse. Bess Cooper is a friend of mine.”

  Sam narrowed her eyes. “So, she’s sleeping with you, too? Interesting. Of course, we’ll keep that out of the story. This is the news, Whit, not kindergarten. You’re doing it.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You do the story, or you’re fired.”

  “You can’t fire me. I have a contract.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “I suddenly feel a bout of the flu coming on.” He sneezed then whipped out a handkerchief and blew his nose.

  “If you walk out of here…” Sam held up a fist.

  “Threatening me? I’d hate to get everyone on the staff sick tonight. I might be contagious. Might be bubonic plague. Better get to the doctor.”

  “Goddam it, Whit! Get your ass in here.”

  “Are you going to do that story?”

  “Okay, okay, you win.”

  Whit let out a big breath. “Thank you, Sam. I owe you.”

  Whit left her office, glancing back, not trusting the smile she wore. This isn’t over. No one wins over Sam. He picked up news copy for the show and read it over while he sat in makeup. That was a close call. Bess doesn’t need that kind of grief. She’s got enough to deal with now.

  Whit smiled at his courage in standing up to Sam. Time for his broadcast drew near. The makeup artist finished with him, and he went to change his tie. Gold isn’t the best. I must have a purple one somewhere. He fished through the small closet in his cozy office and plucked out the right one.

  The lights were on. Whit slipped into his seat at the news desk, took a sip of water, and cleared his throat. Glancing over the lead stories on his desk, he did a few speaker warm up exercises with his voice, waiting for the cameras to roll.

  The teleprompter came on. He focused on the type. He began with his typical greeting then the screen went blank for a fraction of a second before a new story appeared.

  “This just in,” he read. “Confrontation between slain police officer Terrence McNeil’s’ widow and the popular cooking show star, Bess Cooper, today at the cemetery…” Whit froze and looked down at the paper in front of him.

  “Wait. Taking this out of order.” He struggled to keep his hands from shaking. “Excuse me. An elderly man was struck by a car and killed on Queen’s Boulevard,” he said, glancing up to see Sam jumping up and down, her face turning as red as the flesh of a watermelon. She kept making a slashing gesture across her throat, but Whit ignored her. He kept reading from the sheet, paying no attention to the words scrolling by on the prompter.

  Finally, the camera cut from Whit to the film of the day’s events at the cemetery and in the van. Now, it was his turn to become purple with rage. He was helpless to stop it. Locking eyes with a smug, triumphant Sam, Whit thought he’d bust a gut. The story continued to roll on the screen, cutting to commercial when the tape was over.

  Whit knew if he marched out, he’d be violating his contract and fired on the spot. At this point, there was nothing he could do. The tape had run. The truth was out, and he could no longer cover it up or stop it. The damage has been done. Getting fired won’t help Bess. So, he corralled his emotions and read the second story from the teleprompter.

  Half an hour dragged on. Breaking for a minute of sports and weather didn’t help. He caught his breath and studied the next story. No time to think. No time to calm his racing pulse. He knew Bess would be watching the broadcast, especially because he had interviewed Mona. Bess wouldn’t miss that, or coverage of Terry’s burial, either.

  Finally, the program ended. But instead of tearing out of the studio as fast as he could to console Bess, he hung around to speak to Sam. “Sam, that’s the lowest thing you’ve ever done.”

  “That�
�s news, Whit. Get over it, or get another job.”

  “Is it news? That’s private information. What good does it do anyone else outside of the parties concerned to know that? Nothing but scandal, titillation…”

  “Yep. Bet our ratings go up. And I’m gonna re-run that tape tonight, too. So, tell your little chickie to tune in at eleven.”

  “You have no heart, no soul.” Whit shook his head.

  “I have a job. That’s more than you, if you ever pull a stunt like that again.”

  “If I have to take down someone I care about to keep my job, then it’s not worth keeping.”

  “Is this your resignation?” He couldn’t tell if she was hopeful or nervous.

  “No such luck, Sam. I don’t give up that easily.” He picked up his briefcase.

  “Good. Because you have a following, and I’d hate to lose you.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Look, Whit. I have a job to do. And because I’m a woman, I have to be tougher than the guys if I want to keep it. This isn’t anything against you. It’s a juicy story that’ll goose up ratings. You don’t worry about that, but I do. Every day.”

  “I wouldn’t trade places with you for anything,” Whit said, heading for the door.

  “’Night,” she called after him, but he didn’t answer.

  Thank God, I’ll be in Asia soon writing real stories instead of digging up shit. His mouth tasted foul, so he popped a couple of pieces of gum. Makes my stomach turn. Bess, please God, I hope you understand.

  * * * *

  Bess turned off the television and plopped down on the sofa. She tried to control her breathing. Her cell rang. It was Rory.

  “Did you watch the news?”

  “Of course. Did you?”

  “Bess, did you say those things?”

  “I did. I had no idea I was being recorded. I thought it was a private conversation with Whit…in the van…” She burst into tears before she could continue. Rory said something before she hung up, but Bess didn’t hear. Whit, how could you? How could you betray me for a story? I trusted you. Believed you were sincere. You set me up. Why?

  Her heart hurt. As she was coping with Terry’s sudden death, Whit proved to be a traitor. She had feelings for him. Now, he had thrown her to the wolves. Sure hope my producer wasn’t watching. God, what happens if he was? A small shudder flashed through her. She went to the liquor cabinet and pulled out the brandy bottle. It’s getting low. My emergency supply is dwindling. She poured a small snifter and took a drink. The smooth liquor warmed her.

  She returned to the sofa and stretched out. Dumpling joined her, and Homer curled up on the floor nearby. You park your dog here then stab me in the back? I love you, Homer, but you have to go. Bess wanted to be angry with Whit. She wanted to hate him, throw things at him, but the pain of his betrayal stopped at simple hurt. She kept asking herself why he did it, but she couldn’t come up with a clear cut answer.

  Another sip of brandy, and her eyes began to close. The snoring of the pugs lulled her to sleep, but the buzz from the lobby woke her with a start. She pushed up slowly and made her way to the intercom. Her Dinner Club friends had arrived. She heard the voices getting louder as the elevator neared. All talking stopped once they spied Bess waiting in the doorway.

  The women and their dogs filed past their hostess. Miranda plopped down a bag of take-out from the Chinese restaurant. Brooke opened it, and they all started talking again. Rory went to the cabinet for plates. Miranda grabbed silverware.

  Then, Bess clapped her hands and all activity stopped. “What’s going on here?”

  “We thought you’d be upset about the news broadcast. So, we’re here to listen, feed you, and let you know you’re not alone,” Brooke piped up.

  Tears clouded Bess’s eyes, but she blinked them back. “You guys are the best.”

  “So, how are you?” Rory perched on a stool at the breakfast bar.

  “I’m confused. I don’t know why he did it. When I told Whit I wanted to go to the funeral…he offered…” Bess poured out the story, and the other three listened while they passed around eggrolls, Mu Shu Chicken, and fried Tofu. When she finished laying out the details, the women packed up the empty cartons and placed them in the garbage.

  Before discussion could continue, the doorbell sounded, and Homer ran over, barking.

  “That must be Whit,” Bess whispered. Her heartbeat kicked up, and anger heated her cheeks.

  “This is our signal to leave. Come on, ladies.” Rory said. The Dinner Club women leashed their dogs and headed for the door.

  Whit stepped back to let them out. He nodded a greeting. They avoided his gaze and silently headed for the elevator. He crossed the room in three strides and gripped Bess’s arms. “You saw the broadcast?”

  “Of course.”

  “Bess, I…I’m so sorry. I had no idea…”

  “You mean to tell me, you didn’t know they were recording?”

  “No, I didn’t. I really didn’t. It never occurred to me they’d record something so…so…private. Between us. In the van.”

  “But you knew they were shooting the fight?”

  “I didn’t think about it. All I thought about was getting you away from her and safely back home. I should’ve been more aware. I should’ve told them to cut. I didn’t. I’m so sorry. You have no idea.”

  “You didn’t arrange this—or hope for this—to boost your career?”

  He stepped back. “Of course not! I’d never do that. I’d never hurt you to advance my career. You must believe that.”

  “You betrayed me. Sold me down the river. Now, I’m branded. People will think I’m a cheater…an adulterer. My little white lie to save Mona’s feelings will—I’ll never live it down.”

  “It’s not that big of a deal. She’s the one who slapped you, even though you said you were only Terry’s friend. She was in the wrong.”

  “So? I’m the single woman. She’s the grieving widow. I’ll be the bad guy.”

  “Bess, forget it. The public is fickle. Today’s news is gone tomorrow.”

  “Not this. And you were going to broadcast this, weren’t you?”

  “Absolutely not! I told my producer. We had a huge fight over it. She said she wasn’t going to run the story and then—blam!—there it was on the screen, big as life. I stopped in the middle and changed to the story about the old man getting killed in Queens.”

  “I saw that.”

  “She cut me off! Then ran the tape, playing the sound over a still picture. They never do that…well, rarely. I was screaming.”

  “I’ll bet.” Bess narrowed her eyes.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “It’s hard…”

  Whit’s frustration exploded. “I come here begging forgiveness, telling the truth, and you don’t believe me? Damn it!”

  “I didn’t say that…I…”

  “Yes, you did. The way you looked at me. Shit! First, Sam doesn’t listen, and now you. Women! Who needs ’em?” He threw up his hands and strode to the window. Homer followed, barking.

  “Women? Now, you’re lumping me in with your mean-ass producer?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then, what did you say?”

  “I said…forget it. Come on, Homer.” He picked up his dog. “Thanks for taking care of him.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “It’s obvious you don’t want me here.”

  “It’s obvious you don’t want to be here. You got what you wanted from me—some sack time and food. Oh, and Homer. Time to take off, right?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. You gave me up to bring a hot story to your producer. Probably sleeping with her, too. I’ve served my purpose. You’re ready to move on.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this.” His eyes widened.

  “Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “Not one word.”

  “Please, I’m not stupid. You
’re probably sleeping with every important, publicity-generating woman in Manhattan. The Great Whitfield Bass. Newsman extraordinaire! Ruins reputations at the drop of a hat! Be sure to spell his name right under those pictures in every newspaper and magazine,” she sneered, snapping her fingers.

  “You bitch! I never suspected you of…of…” Whit looked flustered, and his face reddened.

  “What? Standing up for myself? We women…bitches, all of us.”

  “Take your nasty attitude and shove it, Bess. Never pictured you…like this.”

  “Only pictured me naked and willing, huh?”

  The look of shock on his face told her she’d gone too far. He sold me down the river. Why am I feeling guilty? He’s got this coming. Bastard.

  But he didn’t look like a bastard. He didn’t wear a nasty, smug, sly grin. His cool gray eyes, once lustful and seductive, registered pain and confusion. “I thought you got it…what we had. Never simply sex.”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  He shook his head, tucked Homer under his arm, and proceeded to leave without another word. Whit turned and shot one hurt then angry look at Bess before he slammed the door.

  “Good riddance,” Bess muttered to herself. Dumpling stretched and yawned. “Right, girl. Time to go out.” Bess fastened the leash on her pug, and they went down in the elevator.

  Chapter Ten

  Bess awoke in the morning feeling worse than the night before. All the righteous indignation that had pumped her up, made her shout at Whit, had fizzled down to nothing. She took a tablespoon of regret with her first cup of coffee. Why did I scream all those things at him? He didn’t do the broadcast. It was obvious they cut him off. Yes, he should have told them not to shoot or record, but how did he know they were doing that? What have I done?

  Her appetite went south. Coffee alone would have to do. Bess boarded the elevator. Whit rushed in with Homer a second before the doors closed. They rode to the first floor in silence. A thousand times, Bess wanted to say something, but words wouldn’t come. Neither one looked at the other. The uneasy quiet was relieved only when they landed in the lobby.