by Lynn Ames
“Okay.” She drew out the word. The uneasy feeling she’d had since hearing the phone message was blossoming into a full-fledged knot in her stomach.
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The security guards waited with her as she knocked on Les’s door.
“Come,” he growled.
The anchorwoman poked her head in. “You looking for me, boss?”
“Yes, Kate, come in.” To the guards he said, “It’s okay, fellas, you can wait outside.”
Stepping across the threshold, Kate closed the door behind her. She was beyond shocked to find the station’s general manager, the owner, and Phil all seated around the room. “Wow, this is quite a welcoming committee. Randy, it’s good to see you,” she acknowledged the owner.
“How’s your daughter doing with tennis?” The little girl had an aptitude for the sport, and the station owner had asked Kate one day to talk to her about training and the finer points of the game. She had done so and from that moment on the girl had sought her advice on any number of topics.
“She’s doing fine,” he mumbled, not shifting his gaze from a spot on his trousers.
None of them would meet her eyes, which was making her angry, although she was careful not to let it show.
“Have a seat.”
“No thanks, Les, I’m fine.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
This felt suspiciously like an ambush, and she intended to use every advantage; towering over the four men in the room was certainly one of them. “What can I do for all of you fine gentlemen?” Whatever this was, she had no intention of making it easy for them.
The news director fidgeted in his seat, picking up and then dropping his pencil. “Um, our switchboard started lighting up kind of early this morning with some rather ridiculous nonsense, but it raised a flag, so the receptionist called me.” He still hadn’t looked up. The anchorwoman remained silent, forcing him to feel even more uncomfortable.
“We know it’s just garbage, Kate, but still we have to take it seriously.” John Isaac, the station manager, picked up the ball. When she said nothing but continued to regard each of them steadily in turn, he stumbled on, “There were some pretty irate callers, you see, and they were insistent that we do something.”
Kate merely raised an eyebrow.
“We know it’s a hoax, I mean, we know you, right?” Randy chimed in. “I mean my kid idolizes you, for God’s sake.”
“Anyway,” Les picked up the thread, “I had Phil here go out and get a copy of the thing so we could see for ourselves how trumped up it was.
But when the receptionist started babbling at me as soon as she saw me about how sorry she was and how she thought the guy was really a friend of yours and she only told him where you were because she was trying to be helpful, well...”
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Kate was truly perplexed. What the hell were they talking about? She was tempted to tell them just to spit it out, but she had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to like where all this was going, so she decided to play it cool and wait them out. Outwardly she maintained a relaxed posture, seeming as though she hadn’t a care in the world, even as her insides were churning.
“Oh heck. Here.” The station manager threw something down on the desk.
Glancing down, she saw that it was that week’s edition of the National Enquirer, with the headline in huge bold print, A New Breed of Journalist? Indeed! There were two large, grainy pictures side by side underneath the headline. One of the pictures showed two women kissing on a beach. The second snapshot showed the women playing in the surf.
In each picture the tall woman was clearly visible and identifiable; the other woman’s back was to the camera and her face was almost completely obscured with the exception of a tiny bit of her profile. The caption underneath the photos read, What Time magazine didn’t tell you about stunning journalist/heroine Katherine Kyle, seen here getting up close and personal with an unidentified blonde in celebration of her cover girl status.
“We know they probably just took a picture of you and pasted the other woman in there, I mean, geez. Right, Kate?” Randy looked at her hopefully.
The anchorwoman knew she could probably get away with agreeing; after all, it’s what they wanted to hear. But she wouldn’t do that. She loved Jay too much to cheapen their relationship by hiding or lying about it. In the past she had chosen to remain silent because there wasn’t anyone worth fighting for, but to deny that the kiss with her lover that had been captured on film was anything other than what it was, was to deny her own heart, and Jay’s importance in her life. Kate wouldn’t do that, no matter the cost or the consequences.
Her silence made the men in the room exceedingly uncomfortable.
“Hell, you don’t even know who that other woman is, right? You’ve probably never even seen her, never mind—well, you know.”
Kate shifted her gaze discreetly to Les, and then to Phil, realizing that even they, who had met Jay and spent time with her, didn’t know who the blonde was. Good. She straightened to her full height, looking each man in the eye before responding.
“No, you’re wrong, John. As you gentlemen can see, that is clearly me, and the woman you see with me is my fiancée.” She lifted her chin and stared at each man defiantly.
“Your what?” Les exploded.
“I believe you heard me, Les.”
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“Who the hell is she? What the hell is going on? What are we supposed to do now? You’re a lesbian? You’ve got to be kidding me!
Why didn’t you tell us? You’re going to ruin us.”
With a calmness belying the anger seething in her veins, Kate said,
“To answer your questions in order, Randy: None of your business. I’m in love and getting married, and I was on vacation on a remote Caribbean island with my soon-to-be wife when some lowlife obviously hunted us down and invaded our privacy. I have no idea. Yes. No. I think it’s obvious given your reaction why I didn’t tell you, apart from the fact that it has no bearing on the job I do. And finally, I’d like to think that the job I have done, the consistent number-one ratings we’ve gotten since I’ve been anchoring, and the recent positive nationwide publicity for WCAP
that resulted from my coverage of the bombings speak for themselves.”
John had his head in his hands, Randy’s mouth was opening and closing but nothing was coming out, the veins were popping out of Les’s neck, and Phil simply stared at his shoes, unable to look his friend in the eye. Finally, Les spoke up. “You know there’s a morals clause in your contract, Kate.”
“Yes, I’m aware of it. I believe the clause states that I must maintain dignity and the upstanding reputation of the station and myself.”
“Right.”
“Are you saying I haven’t done that?”
“Well, um, ah, Kate, you’ve done a great job for us and we all know it,” John said. “It’s just that this is going to create a landslide of negative publicity. Already there are people threatening to boycott the station and advertisers are talking about pulling spots.”
“We just can’t afford to lose that kind of money, Kate. Nothing personal,” Randy added. “Listen, we’re going to honor the remainder of your contract, which is another two years, and pay it out to you in a lump sum. In fact, here’s the check.” He handed her an envelope that he pulled from an inside pocket of his suit jacket.
She glanced down at it and up into his eyes, cobalt blue burning into him. “Are you firing me, Randy?” Her voice was low and measured, without a hint of the anger, incredulity, or disappointment she felt.
He looked to the others for support. “Um, I’d rather not call it that, Kate. I’d rather just say that you have decided to pursue other opportunities and leave it at that. In fact, we have prepared a statement to that effect that we’re ready to release as soon as you agree.” He handed her a piece of paper.
With a shock
she realized that this had all been rehearsed and choreographed; they were just going through the motions. “In fact,” she emphasized, using Randy’s terminology and taking a step forward, “I’m guessing it doesn’t really matter one way or the other what I want or how 217
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I want to play this. You seem to have everything figured out.” There was no rancor in her statement, just a frank assessment.
“I’m sorry whom I love or how I love offends some of your viewers.
That’s most unfortunate for them. I have always had the utmost respect for all of you and this news operation. I wish you all the best.” She started to leave. With her hand on the knob, she turned back and said,
“As for what you say in the press release, you do what you feel you must, but I will not be quoted in it, is that clear? You may lie or put a pretty face on it if you choose, but I will not demean my credibility for the sake of expedience. Good luck, gentlemen, I will always be grateful for the opportunity you gave me. Thanks.”
With that, she was gone.
The men waited until the door clicked closed, then slumped back in their respective chairs. “Whew. Glad that’s over with,” Randy said, running two fingers under his shirt collar.
“Yeah, you got that right,” John agreed. “That was easier than I thought it would be. I thought she would put up a fight. Well, you can’t say we weren’t prepared for anything. Sitting down with the lawyers in that conference call before she got here was a stroke of genius, boss. I’m sure they’re right and paying off her contract will keep her from suing or making a public fuss; heck, we treated her better than most places would’ve.”
“I’ve got to admit,” Les threw in with a note of grudging respect, “I thought she was pretty classy and pretty gutsy about the whole thing. She never once lost her cool.”
“Like an ice princess,” John agreed.
“I can’t believe she’s really a lesbian. She’s so hot; she could have any guy she wanted. What a waste,” Randy intoned. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell my kid when she asks why she can’t talk to her anymore.”
Phil just sat there glumly, knowing that the station had just lost the finest anchorwoman and one of the best reporters it had ever had and that he had lost a good friend. He didn’t know how he could ever face her again, or if he would ever get the chance, but he hoped he would, someday.
At 9:34 a.m. Jay was riding the subway on her way to the office. She was standing in one of the middle cars, as was her custom, thinking about what she wanted to outfit her home office with when her stomach suddenly clenched. Caught off guard, she nearly doubled over. What the hell? Just as she was regaining her equilibrium a surge of adrenaline pumped through her, as if she were responding to some sort of 218
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threatening situation. She looked around her for the source of her discomfort, but could find nothing.
After getting off at her stop, she made her way into the building and onto the elevator. She was alone in the car when she was bombarded with a rush of anger so strong it scared her. What was going on? She shook her head to clear her mind. What could she possibly be angry about? She was completely puzzled. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before.
Once at her floor, she went directly to the ladies’ room, where she splashed her face with cold water in an attempt to alleviate the pressure in her head. When she reached her desk she relegated the odd sensations to the back of her mind, focusing instead on organizing her workspace and seeking out Trish to find out what her next assignment might be.
“Hiya, kid. Hey, that’s some tan you got there. You look great. And it’s a good thing you’re well rested, ’cause I got a doozy for you. How do you feel about being a globetrotter?”
“Okay, Trish, now you’ve really lost me.”
“I know you were hiding away somewhere and probably didn’t pay too much attention to the news, but did you hear about the Stark?”
“The what?”
“The USS Stark. Got blown up on Sunday, killed thirty-seven and another five or more were injured. They’ve been taken to the military hospital at Wiesbaden, near Frankfurt, Germany. I want you to go over there and interview some of the injured.”
“Okay. Now I remember seeing something last night about it. The USS Stark, hit by two Iraqi Exocet missiles in the Persian Gulf while out protecting the shipping lanes for oil.”
“Right. I want you to do a little research and then fly over there tonight. We’ve got you clearance to be on the base tomorrow for the interviews. Then I need you to be flexible, ’cause we’re thinking there might be a memorial service somewhere. If there is, you’re going to cover it.”
“Okay. I’ll get right on it.” Making her way back to her desk to plan her next steps, Jay tried to order her thoughts. She needed to get the newspapers for the last several days, as well as the Associated Press wire reports, and talk to sources at the Pentagon to see what she could find out about the injured sailors ahead of time. And she’d need to make plane reservations for later that day.
But first, she wanted to call Kate and tell her that she wouldn’t be home that night, and probably not the next night either. She might not be able to get home for the rest of the week, which was a depressing thought. Dialing the now-familiar number, she was surprised when the answering machine picked up. She looked at her watch: 10:22 a.m. That 219
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was odd, her lover should have been home. One thing Jay had quickly discovered about the anchorwoman was that she was a creature of habit.
By 10:00 a.m. she would have worked out and run, played ball with Fred, and been inside reading the newspaper or a book in the library, or out on the deck.
“This is Kate. I’m not home right now to take your call, so please leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks.”
Beep.
“Hi, sweetheart, it’s me. I can’t imagine where you are, but I’ll try you again in a little while. Seems like I’m heading to Germany to interview injured sailors from the USS Stark, which was attacked in the Persian Gulf over the weekend. Unfortunately, that means I won’t be home tonight, and probably not tomorrow night, either. I’m bummed.”
She thought about mentioning the unsettling emotions she’d been experiencing all morning, but decided to wait to tell her in person.
“Anyway, I’ll try you again, or you can try me at the office. I’ve got some background research to do, so I may be away from my desk for a while, but you can leave a message if you want.” Lowering her voice, she added, “I love you, Kate. Bye.”
At 12:30 p.m. Jay was just getting back to her desk from the research room. She couldn’t shake the roiling feeling of misery and despair that had seeped into her consciousness for the past couple of hours, replacing the anger that had preceded it. Was she just upset at having to go out of the country and not being able to see Kate? It seemed to her as though the reaction was out of proportion to the situation, if that was the case. But she didn’t think it was. Something else was going on, although she couldn’t imagine what, and it was really disconcerting.
Trish appearing at her elbow interrupted her ruminations. “Hey, kiddo. Have you seen this yet?” She pointed to something she held in her hand.
Jay glanced at the newspaper and shook her head.
“Well, it seems there’s a little something we didn’t tell our readers,”
she said glibly, offering the writer the newspaper.
Jay unfolded it and realized that it was the National Enquirer, hardly something she would have taken notice of. Then she saw the big, bold headline, caught a glimpse of the pictures, and read the caption. Her face drained of color.
“Are you okay, kid? You look like you saw a ghost or something.”
Jay took a moment to compose herself, a thousand thoughts running through her head at the same time, but one overwhelming desire: she had 220
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&nbs
p; to find Kate. God, what if she had seen it? What if her bosses had? Did that explain the strange emotions Jay had been experiencing all day? She looked again at the pictures with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Kate was clearly identifiable, though anyone would have been hard-pressed to know that it was Jay with the anchorwoman. She refocused on Trish. No, she didn’t seem to have figured it out.
Trying to control the quaver in her voice and the angry sparks in her eyes, Jay pointed at the pictures and said, “I didn’t think that was something the reading public needed to know. It wasn’t germane to the story. Does it matter to you?”
“What, that the woman is gay? Nah. Love is love. I told you we were only interested in her professional life, and I meant it. This kind of crap isn’t anybody’s business but hers and her lover’s.”
Relieved beyond measure by her boss’s attitude, Jay considered telling Trish that she was the other woman in the photo, but she didn’t want to take anything away from the story she had done about Kate. It had been a fair piece, a good piece, and she didn’t want to taint it, or the anchorwoman, by raising questions in her editor’s mind of objectivity.
All she could think about was getting to her lover as soon as possible.
Then she remembered that she needed to be on a plane in five hours.
Damn. She needed to get moving.
“Thanks, Trish. You know, I’ve got to hustle if I’m going to catch that plane. I’ve got to go home and pack. I’ve done all the preliminary research I can from here. I’ve got three or four interviews lined up for tomorrow at the hospital in Wiesbaden and I hope to catch up with some of the family members of the injured, as well. I’ll call you when I’m done with that to find out if you want me to cover the memorial service, if there is one, okay?” She was already gathering her things and putting them in her briefcase.
“Sounds good. You have a safe flight, you hear? Be careful over there.”
“I will. Thanks, Trish.”
As the editor moved away, Jay immediately picked up the phone, looking at her watch. It was just after 1:00 p.m.; surely Kate would be at home. She dialed the number and was greeted by the answering machine.