Alexandra Waring

by Laura Van Wormer

  “Well, first, there’s the exposure,” Alexandra said.

  “No,” Cassy said, “first there’s the bonus money they receive.”

  “No,” Alexandra insisted, giving Cassy a playful elbow in the side, “first there’s the exposure. Some television reporters have to fight very hard for exposure.” Everybody laughed, knowing of Alexandra’s problems about getting on the air at her old network.

  “And there are the bonus systems being worked out,” Cassy said, “based on how a story is used, nationally, or in how many individual local markets. It’s very complicated—”

  “But we have an Accounta-5 TR-587 System—on line,” Langley said, as if anyone could possibly know what he was talking about.

  Everybody looked back to Cassy.

  “As you know,” she said, “the United States of America is a tremendous geographic area and, to reach the entire population, one has to broadcast from roughly two hundred stations. As you might not know, there are almost as many variations in union and nonunion working agreements at TV stations across the country. And it is only because of our access to the most sophisticated accounting hardware and software systems in the world that we’re able to tailor-make every single one of our affiliate agreements and work out individual bonus agreements with reporters and technical crews.”

  “Yeah, but can your computers sign a tax return?” someone cracked, making everyone laugh.

  “Let me tell you,” Cassy finally said, still laughing, “I wouldn’t put it past them. And the science editors of your papers are going to be invited to meet with Dr. Kessler—the gentleman who’s responsible for all of the technological wonders at Darenbrook Communications—who will explain the extraordinary transmission and receiving capacities of our satellite, and the impact it may have on broadcasting as we know it.”

  She smiled. “Questions.”

  Jackson closed the door to the cafeteria and whirled around to face Cassy and Langley in his office. “You!” he said, pointing at Cassy. “I have half a mind to rip up your contract right now.”

  Cassy and Langley exchanged looks.

  “How dare you upstage Alexandra!” Jackson said.

  “What?” Langley said.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Jackson demanded of her.

  “Wait a minute, Jack,” Langley said.

  “You wait a minute!” Jackson said. “I’m not building this goddam division to glorify your blond bombshell here, Lang.” He stormed over to his desk, muttering, “This is Alexandra’s show and I don’t care if we have to write her cue cards or stay up all night with her, I want Alexandra to know everything there is to know so she can explain it to the press.”

  “I don’t even understand all of it yet,” Langley said, “because Cassy here hasn’t finished inventing it yet! And what do you mean, let Alexandra explain it? Who’s going to believe anything that your little girlfriend has to say about Darenbrook Communications at this point?”

  “Langley!” This was from Cassy, who until now had just been standing there, listening, looking only mildly fed up. “For heaven sakes,” she whispered, nodding toward the door to the cafeteria, “don’t even kid around like that. If anybody heard that coming out of your mouth…” She glanced over at Jackson. “We have enough problems trying to clean up Alexandra’s reputation as it is.”

  “Oh, nice, Mrs. Cochran, really nice,” Jackson said, yanking his chair out from behind his desk and banging it into the wall.

  “Well, you do seem to have your strategies a little confused,” she said in her normal voice, resting her hand on her hip. “It’s not very helpful for our anchorwoman’s name to be dragged through every muck-and-mire rag in the country because the chairman apparently has nothing better to do than follow her around day and night.”

  “Look!” Jackson said, sitting down and slamming his desk. “Your job is to run DBS News, so go run it! Stop grandstanding in front of the press, that’s all I’m saying. There’s one star and you ain’t it, Mrs. Cochran. Langley—ya hear me? When we put Alexandra out onstage, I’m holding you responsible to keep Blondie here back in the wings where she belongs.”

  “And you better—” Cassy cut herself off, touching the bridge of her nose, murmuring, “Why am I getting caught up in this?” and then lowering her hand. “Look,” she said, quietly, to Jackson, waiting for him to look at her before continuing. “You’re simply going to have to believe that I know a little bit more about this than you do. You’re also going to have to—”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” Jackson told her.

  Cassy stared at him for a long moment. He stared back. Finally she said, “Remind me—we both want DBS News and Alexandra to succeed, right?”

  He didn’t answer. He was glaring at her now.

  “And you hired me to make DBS News and Alexandra succeed, right?”

  “Right!” Langley said.

  “So why won’t you let me?” Cassy said to Jackson.

  “Lady, you’re asking for it,” Jackson said.

  “Jack—” Langley started.

  “No, Langley, wait,” Cassy said, holding a hand up to silence him. To Jackson, “I mean it. I want to know why you won’t let me do my job. Since the day I agreed. to come here I have had nothing but run-ins with you. And what I want to know is, why do I keep running into you? Why is the chairman of Darenbrook Communications constantly underfoot? Why is he playing with the typewriters in the newsroom? Why is he in our anchorwoman’s dressing room, watching them tile her shower? Why is he giving the tabloids a heyday of speculation? What are you doing?” she demanded, bringing both her hands down on his desk with a bang. “Damn it!” she said then, pushing off the desk. “This is her life you’re messing with. Everything that young woman has is riding on this endeavor. And you seem to like Alexandra—that’s what I don’t understand—how you won’t even think twice before putting her career in peril by interfering with every person and process that can help her succeed.”

  She flew over to the outer-office door and threw it open. “Could someone please call my office and have Chi Chi bring up this morning’s clippings on Alexandra? Right now? Thank you.” She slammed the door and then walked over to stand by the window, folding her arms. “We might as well go through the whole thing,” she said. “We’ve got to settle this now.” She looked over at Jackson. “Or I might as well leave. Today.”

  “Cassy, there’s no reason to start talking of that,” Langley said quietly, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. He turned to Jackson. “Is there, Jack?” When Jackson didn’t say anything (he was staring down at his desk), Langley added, “I think there’s been just a little misunderstanding about territory.”

  Cassy covered her face with one hand and laughed. It did not sound like very happy laughter.

  Langley shoved his hand in his pocket and started jingling the change in it, nervously looking back and forth between the two. Jackson was still staring down at his desk and Cassy was staring out at the square.

  There was a knock on the door to the cafeteria and then Alexandra peeked in. “Hi,” she said, “may we come in?” Kyle was behind her.

  Immediately Jackson’s face changed. “Sure, come on in.”

  Alexandra came in, held the door for Kyle and closed it. Then she turned around and, with a huge smile, ran over to throw her arms around Cassy. “They bought it!” she said in a whisper, laughing. She released Cassy and turned to Langley and Jackson and in her normal voice said, “Not only do they think the network can work, but two almost said they thought we might know what we’re doing.” She turned back to Cassy, touching her arm. “Thank God you’re here, that’s all I can say. They never would have believed any of it from any of us.” She turned to Jackson. “Isn’t she the best?”

  Alexandra was still carrying on about how wonderfully the breakfast had gone when Chi Chi arrived with the folder. “The legal department is copying the one from Spy Glass,” Chi Chi told Cassy at the door.

  “Oh, that
,” Alexandra said, groaning and plunking herself down onto one of the sofas. “Did you see that one, Kyle?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Have a seat, Kyle,” Jackson said, getting up from behind his desk. “All of you,” he added, gesturing to the seats around the glass table, where Alexandra was. “Come on, Lang, sit.” He patted Langley on the shoulder and looked over at Cassy.

  “Look through these,” she murmured, handing him the folder and moving over to sit in one of the chairs.

  And so they sat around the glass table and Jackson started reading through the folder. The Regina Baxter quote—the one that appeared on Alexandra’s first day of work at DBS, the one implying that Alexandra was some kind of million-dollar call girl of Jackson’s—had become the standard reference used by the tabloids to establish credibility for “Alexandra” stories. There were several clippings from papers that had run a wire service photo of Jackson and Alexandra at the company retirement dinner in Richmond, and one tabloid ran the following caption underneath it:

  “Alexandra Waring out on the town with billionaire boyfriend-boss Jackson Darenbrook. Even newswoman Regina Baxter, who prefers to steer clear of controversy, felt compelled to speak out against the woman she sees giving all women in TV news a bad name.”

  Jackson glanced over at Cassy. She met his eye and lofted her eyebrows, as much as to say, “Happy?”

  Another ran the caption, “Jackson Darenbrook with Alexandra Waring, the video vixen Regina Baxter says is overpaid by $999,800 a night.”

  Jackson closed his eyes for a moment and then went on. A blind item was circled in Roz Gladden’s syndicated column:

  My oh my but does a certain farm girl seem to drag a lot of dirt around with her. First we heard whispers about her old boss, now we’re hearing about million-dollar moans with the new. So someone explain it to me—what’s with the boyfriend? Is he deaf and blind, or just out of town too much? Or is this the one about the farmer’s daughter I missed?

  “I bet he’s reading Roz Gladden’s column,” Alexandra was saying to Kyle.

  Jackson looked up. “This is disgusting.”

  “Bitsy Bourner’s column is quite nice,” Alexandra said, recrossing her legs and smoothing her skirt. “Read that.”

  He did:

  Jealousy, readers, that’s all it is, pure and simple. I talked with one NBC news official who said, “Even if she were Walter Cronkite, people would be jealous. The point is, a major corporation has pledged its faith in one individual, and people can’t believe a very pretty 30-year-old woman has earned it on professional merit alone.” Well, readers, here’s one that does. Go get ‘em, Alexandra! That’s what I say.

  “Don’t read any more,” Alexandra suggested, leaning over to take the folder away from him.

  “I’d like him to read them,” Cassy said.

  “And I want to know what we’re doing about it,” Jackson said to Cassy.

  “Well,” Langley said, “Derek”—referring to their PR director—”has a ringer he can bring in from the West Coast. A guy who’s got something on everybody at these rags so they’ll leave her alone.”

  “Oh, no!” Alexandra and Kyle said simultaneously, trying to wave this suggestion away.

  “But this is very nasty stuff,” Cassy said to Jackson, “and they’re only warming up.” She looked sideways at Alexandra. “I don’t know why, but they seem to think they can sell a lot of papers dragging our poor friend here through the mud.”

  “Well, they’re right,” Kyle said. “Because Alexandra’s very hot stuff.”

  “Thank you, Mr. McFarland,” Alexandra said. “I think you’re pretty hot stuff too.”

  He grinned and looked back at Cassy. “And so I think we should consider moving up the debut of ‘News America Tonight’ from Labor Day to Memorial Day and cash in on the publicity.”

  “What?” Langley and Jackson said together, turning to look at Cassy.

  “Interesting idea,” she murmured, reaching for the phone on the table.

  “It struck both me and Alexandra when Derek said what a pity it was that all this publicity was going to waste,” Kyle said. “And yesterday Dr. Kessler’s tests with the affiliates went off without a hitch.”

  “How many?” Langley asked Cassy.

  “They ran them with forty-one, I think—wasn’t it, Kyle?” Cassy said, punching four numbers into the phone.

  “Yep.”

  “I’d prefer to go on the air with everything nailed down,” Alexandra said, “but I think Kyle’s right. If we could go on the air soon—while I’m still all over the newsstands and the networks are going into reruns…”

  “But everything has to be nailed down,” Cassy said, covering the phone with her hand and speaking over it. And then she shrugged. “So we just have to hammer away night and day to get it done in time, I guess.” She spoke into the phone. “Yes, hi, Rookie.” Evidently she was talking to Rookie Haskell, the director of advertising sales. “I want you to call around and see what the reaction would be if ‘DBS News America Tonight’ debuted on Memorial Day—right, Memorial Day. Yes. This Memorial Day, Rookie.”

  “May 30,” Kyle said.

  “May 30,” Cassy said. “And we’d run straight through the summer, the only original prime-time programming around.” She smiled. “Well, what’s the point of being an alternative network if we can’t do whatever we want?” she said, winking at Kyle. “Yes,” she said, now looking at Alexandra. “Sure. Tell them Alexandra is an absolute knockout with a suntan.” She laughed. “Okay.” She lowered the phone slightly. “He wants to know if he could bring a couple of sponsors to meet you.”

  “Sure,” Alexandra said.

  “How can we—” Jackson started to say.

  “Shhh,” Langley said, eyes on Cassy.

  “And make sure to tell them,” Cassy said into the phone, “that if the writers’ strike continues, then ‘News America Tonight’ could well be the only original prime-time programming around to watch in the fall.”

  “Yeah!” Jackson said, pounding a fist on Langley’s knee.

  “Ow,” Langley said.

  “Wait a minute!” Cassy suddenly said, bouncing in her seat. “Wait a minute, everybody.”

  “What?” Kyle said.

  Cassy looked at Langley, snapping her fingers twice. “What about Jessica Wright? What’s happening with her show?”

  “Uh,” Langley said, “she’s—uh—well, I mean, she’s missing at the moment—”

  “You still haven’t found her?” Jackson asked him.

  But when is her show scheduled? What are you doing with her?” Cassy asked Langley.

  “Um,” Langley said, “we’re not sure. She threw a fit over Bertie Flotsheim as her executive producer and so now she doesn’t have one.”

  “What are you thinking of?” Alexandra asked Cassy.

  “Rookie?” Cassy said into the phone.

  “Here,” Jackson said, leaning forward and turning the speakerphone on. “Hey, Rook, can ya hear me?”

  “Hi, Jackson,” Rookie said.

  “Okay, guys, listen up,” Cassy said, putting the phone down on the table. “What do you think about selling ‘News America Tonight’ and ‘The Jessica Wright Show’ together? Back to back? As a package? Two hours of original prime-time programming against reruns for at least three months? We could head into the fall with a good audience, news and entertainment, nine to eleven. And if the strike lasts—who knows? We might clean up this fall.”

  “I like it,” Rookie said. “I think advertisers’ll like it too. Jessica’s a real strong drawing card out there.”

  “What’s the matter, Alexandra?” Cassy said.

  “I’m all for trying to get on the air by Memorial Day,” she said slowly. “But about ‘The Jessica Wright Show’…” She shook her head. “I just don’t know. Her style is so—so…” She smiled a little, looking for the right words. “I guess I’m wondering if we attract the same audience.”

  “You’ll be the l
ead-in for her,” Cassy said. “DBS can’t put anyone named the Terror of Tucson on during family hour.” The latter was said to Langley.

  “No, of course not,” Langley said.

  “So you’ll just bring a new audience to her,” Cassy said.

  “Okay,” Alexandra said, shrugging, “if it’ll get us on the air by Memorial Day.”

  “I’d pair up with her if I were you, Alexandra,” Rookie said over the speaker. “Out West, the demos say Jessica Wright’s the biggest thing to hit eighteen-to-thirty-fours since the Honda Civic.”

  “You know what?” Jackson suddenly said. Everybody looked at him, and he looked at Cassy. “I think you’re very smart, Mrs. Cochran.”

  Cassy blinked several times. “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” Jackson said. He turned to Langley. “And I think what we gotta do, Lang, is send out a search party and find Jessica and then,” he said, turning to Cassy, “I think Mrs. Cochran should talk to the affiliates and see what they think, and she should also sit in on a production meeting about Jessica’s show—if she doesn’t mind, that is.”

  “I’d be delighted to,” Cassy said.

  “Then,” Jackson said, turning to the speakerphone, “I think Rookie should tell us what he can fetch for the ladies of DBS, and then,” he said, turning to Alexandra, “I think we hustle to get ‘DBS News America Tonight’ on the air by Memorial Day—right?”

  “Right!” Alexandra said, leaping to her feet and heading for the door.

  “Great!” Kyle said, right behind her.

  “I don’t know how we’ll get it all done in time,” Cassy said, standing up, “but we will. I promise you.”

  Within a minute, Langley and Jackson were left sitting there, alone.

  “Hello?” Rookie said over the speakerphone.

  “Slowpoke,” Jackson said, leaning over to hang up on him.

  8

  Alexandra, Cassy, Stolen Money,

  Weddings and His Wife:

  Langley Tries to Stay on Top of Things

  For the life of him, Langley Peterson couldn’t understand why nobody else seemed to notice—or care—that their anchorwoman was the most manipulative creature since Mata Hari.