She shrugged. "He gives me diamond bracelets."
"And that's not all," Kay droned on. "Strange things are happening at the studio."
"Such as?" Howard's voice was weary.
"The light was out in my office on Friday. I couldn't see a thing. Anyone could have been hiding there in the dark."
"Bulbs burn out, Kay," Howard said, still weary but with a dash of irritated.
"And there was a little bottle of Clorox left by the coffeemaker. Clorox."
"Cleaning people make mistakes, Kay," Howard said, again weary and irritated with a pinch of impatient added.
"Well, that kind of mistake kills people," Kay snapped. "I think it was a threat. Someone is after me. I just know it."
What I knew was that Kay was a grade-A kook. If anyone had been out to kill her, it would have been the viewers after the first episode of Dishing with Kay.
Howard sighed. "Maybe everyone's in on it together."
"Don't be flippant," Kay snapped. "That would never happen. I don't tolerate fraternization."
No kidding.
The back door opened, and an armful of files and a laptop crept in followed by the firm's paralegal, Donna Warren. She froze when she spotted us. "She's here?"
I nodded. "Gutting Howard because the judge tossed her case."
"I'm not surprised." Donna tiptoed across the room to join us. We shifted a little to make room. "That case was groundless. There isn't a jury in the state who would award her anything. Just listen to her."
"And look at her feet," Missy said. "Ever see those things? You can't trust a woman with feet that big. She must shop in the men's shoes department."
"What does foot size have to do with anything?" Donna asked.
"Are you kidding?" Missy said. "They say the size of a man's feet is a good indication—"
Janice Iannacone stormed through the door jingling her car keys, which was as close to a good mood as Janice ever got. As the firm's bookkeeper, she managed to keep its cauldron of lawsuits funded and bubbling along through financial chicanery if not easy camaraderie with her coworkers.
She was halfway across the room before she noticed us. "Oh, no."
Donna put a finger to her lips. "Kay Culverson," she whispered.
"Of course it's Kay Culverson. Who else would it be?" Janice clomped over to stand behind me, hunched like a gargoyle. We shifted a little more so she could get off the back of my shirt. She stayed there anyway. "Case got dismissed?"
"Donna's not surprised," Missy told her.
"It was groundless," Donna said.
"Get off my shirt," I said.
"That woman is impossible." Janice shook her head. "I don't know how Howard puts up with her."
I rolled my eyes. I'd made that very same comment to Missy about her.
"Maybe she just needs a little love," Donna said.
Missy grinned. "Maybe she just needs a little—"
"Get off my shirt," I hissed. Janice slid an inch to the right, which didn't take her off my shirt but did stamp her cloven footprint on a different area.
"Who's going to Butternut this week?" Donna asked. She'd had to go once, when I'd contracted the Head Cold from Hell, and she still had flashbacks about it.
I looked at Missy. "You ought to go. You can handle her."
"I can," she said. "I choose not to."
I looked at Janice. "You could go."
She lifted her nose. "Be serious. A secretary goes with Howard. I'm not a secretary."
"I'm not a secretary either," I told her. "I'm first executive assistant."
She snorted. "Right."
The back door opened, and Howard's associate, Wally Randall, came in holding a monogrammed briefcase, wearing a navy suit and red power tie. His hair was slicked back. His sunglasses were in place. He looked like a fifteen-year-old playing lawyer.
When he saw us standing, squatting, and bending across the room, he paused to take off his sunglasses with the snap of his wrist, the way really cool people do on television. He probably practiced that move in the mirror. "I'm sure there's a good reason that the entire support staff is doing performance art."
"Kay Culverson," Missy said.
"And Howard," Donna added.
"And a cast of thousands," Janice snapped.
Wally was many things, but stout of heart wasn't one of them. In a flash, his facade of sophistication fell away to reveal his inner lily liver. You'd think he'd leap to the defense of the firm's senior partner, but no. He clutched his briefcase to his chest, fidgeted a little, broke out in a sweat, mumbled "I have to— I think I forgot—," and turned and fled.
We looked at each other.
"Baby," Donna said.
"Wuss," Missy said.
"Coward," Janice said.
"Will you please get off my shirt!" I said.
CHAPTER TWO
Most people look forward to Tuesday because it's not Monday, and it's one step closer to the smooth downhill glide into the weekend. But those people didn't have to endure a taping of Dishing with Kay. Not even floating along on the magic carpet of Howard's top-of-the-line Mercedes, with its baby breaths of heat caressing me and its toasty seat cupping me in exciting places, could compensate for what was to come. It was a dreary, chilly March morning, with spring only a distant promise. There was rain in the forecast, which seemed fitting.
Butternut Studio's interior was done in standard Corporate Blah. Lots of battleship gray, thin industrial-grade carpet, and harsh fluorescent lighting. Until you got to the set. Kay's set was bright and welcoming, with rich green tones and pretty light-toned wood chairs and plush cream-colored carpeting. The backdrop was a light minty green. A striking flower arrangement sat on the small glass table between the chairs. The studio had spared no expense when it came to about thirty square feet of floor space.
We found Kay there, looking over her notes. Her lips were moving as she read. She had a paper towel stuck in her collar, and Cindy Waterford Hanson was retouching her makeup, trying to paint life onto Kay's wax-museum cheeks. Cindy's shoulder-length hair was so blonde it was nearly white, her nose and lips were generous without being oversized, and she was as fit as a Navy SEAL thanks to regular spin classes. She had to be. It took work to make Kay camera-ready. Still, it was hard to imagine her hunched over a table mixing up a vat of poisoned foundation.
A classy-looking. middle-aged woman in a red power suit and perfect blonde coif sat in the guest chair, being actively ignored. Kay's MO was interview-by-ambush. She claimed that approach gave her the most candid interviews. It also gave her a shorter guest list, because most of them refused to come back after such shoddy treatment. And since Butternut didn't have the budget for a green room, the guests got to endure Kay from the time they got off the elevator.
I tapped Howard on the shoulder. "Who is that?"
He glanced at the woman. "That's Liz. Senator Halstead."
Senator? How had Kay Culverson managed to book a senator on her show? Shouldn't Liz Halstead be busy doing senatorial things? And politicians wondered why their approval ratings were so low.
Wait. Liz? I stared at Howard. "You know her?"
"I've met her once or twice." He caught the senator's eye and smiled. Senator Halstead smiled back. He lifted a single finger in greeting. I'd never seen Howard so giddy with affection.
"Hey, Jamie, can I talk to you for a minute?"
I turned to find the show's head writer, Damian Whisenhunt, standing beside me. Damian's blond hair was wispy, his build was reedy, and his height fell just north of lawn jockey. Damian was one of those people who lived on the fringes. You tended not to notice him even though he was always there. For some reason, he'd noticed me right away. I kind of wished he hadn't, but that's how it was with me and men.
"Could you read this?" He pushed an envelope into my hands. "I finished it last night."
It was a chapter of a novel he'd been working on for eight months. Not the whole thing. Just the first chapter. Which gave the word pe
rfectionist a whole new meaning.
I forced a smile. "You want me to read it?" I already had my fill of reading material. My sister had dropped off the latest People magazine a few days earlier.
He nodded. "I hope you like it. Listen, Jamie, I—"
Kay brushed Cindy aside and bellowed "Damian!"
His whole body stiffened. "Gotta go," he said immediately.
"I don't like this open." Kay didn't bother to keep her voice down. "I refuse to read it. Do it over."
"But I already loaded the prompter," he said.
She shooed him away. "That's your problem."
"Let's get it together, people," someone called out. It sounded like Tony Sabatini, the director. He usually kept himself hidden in master control while he pulled the strings, like the Great Wizard.
Kay didn't miss a beat. "If Damian had done his job right the first time, we'd be ready to go."
Damian's gaze flitted to Senator Halstead for a second before he took the papers Kay slapped against his stomach and rushed off.
Kay wasn't done. "Get Cindy back here," she snapped. "I want to change out this jacket. The sleeves are too short."
Cindy stepped forward with a placid expression. "They're three-quarter sleeves, Kay. The other jacket has short sleeves, and I know you don't want that."
"But this makes my forearms look like twigs." Kay held them up as Exhibit A. She was wrong. They'd look like straws, if straws had wrinkly elbows. "I want to wear the black blazer on my door."
Cindy's expression didn't change. "That doesn't go with your outfit. Besides, how will viewers see your new gold cuff if it's hidden by your jacket?"
Kay admired her jewelry. "I suppose you're right," she said finally. "No reason they shouldn't enjoy my good taste. But I don't like this shade of lipstick. Give me something peachy. I want this." She held up a tube. "I found it in your kit yesterday. Make the change."
Interesting. For someone claiming to be slathered with poisoned makeup on a daily basis, Kay was awfully quick to steal some of it.
"Excuse me," Senator Halstead said.
With a strained smile, Cindy took the tube and slipped it into her pocket. "Peachy won't work. You want red."
Kay glared at her. "Don't be insolent. I know what I want."
"Excuse me," the Senator repeated. She was bristling. I liked bristling, especially if Kay was the bristlee.
"Peachy won't work with your coloring or your outfit," Cindy said calmly. "Right, Rod?"
"Right," Rod called without looking. Rod Cameron was the stage manager, and he had more important things to do than critique Kay's lipstick color. Like stand in the corner with Bull Whitley, the camera operator, and critique pictures of bikini models on Bull's cell phone. Rod and Bull were both eye candy but for different generations. Bull was as huge and meaty as a villainous cartoon character, built like a Brahma right down to the big shaggy head and lack of finesse, while Rod was the reason that tuxedos had been invented. Hmm. I lost myself for a moment, envisioning Rod in a classic tuxedo with two champagne flutes and a bottle of bubbly. Not bad. He could almost give Curt some competition.
"It's unnecessary to treat these people like that," the senator said. "And it's unnecessary for you to treat me like this." She stood up, tore off her microphone pack, and strode off the set and out of the studio.
When I turned to watch her go, my attention caught on Bull. I wasn't great at reading body language, but even I knew no one scratched their cheek with their middle finger. Guess even gentle giants could get their fill of Kay.
"Nice going, Kay," Rod said. He was definitely not smiling. In fact, when he approached the set, his dark eyes were fiery, smoldering with a seething passion and unbridled lust.
I blinked and took another look. No, it was just fury.
"Now we won't have a new episode for this week," he snapped.
Kay removed the IFB that enabled Tony to whisper in her ear during taping. "We don't need her. Just bring on the next guest."
"Senator Halstead was the guest," Rod told her. "Maybe if you apologize—"
I looked out onto the parking lot, where Senator Halstead was being safely ensconced in the backseat of a shiny black Lincoln. Moments later the car slid away, taking Kay's show with her.
"I will not apologize to that woman," Kay snapped. "She had some nerve walking off like that. I didn't say a word to her!"
Kind of the point.
Tony appeared in the control room doorway, and the doorway trembled. Tony was big in every direction. He had the jowls of a bulldog, the nose of a prize fighter, and the eyes of Charles Manson. I was not going to mess with Tony without a rocket launcher. I'd heard he had worked on at least one national show and rubbed elbows with some bigwigs in the industry in the process. How he'd wound up at Dishing with Kay was anybody's guess. I'd always been too intimidated to ask.
"What's going on out here, people? We've got a show to tape."
"Not anymore," Rod told him. "The senator walked off the set, thanks to Kay."
"I had nothing to do with it," Kay snapped.
Tony seemed so resigned I wondered if this had happened before. "Let's line up two guests for next week. This wouldn't happen on Ellen, people."
"Like you would know," Damian muttered.
"That's it for this week," Rod called out. "Sorry to waste everyone's time."
Kay sprang to her feet, and Howard rushed forward, determined to get to her before anyone else. I rushed along behind him, determined to get to the refreshment table before Howard was ready to leave.
"I'll be with you in a few minutes," Kay told him without breaking stride. "My agent is here. You aren't in a hurry, are you, dear?" She didn't wait for an answer.
Howard's lips thinned with displeasure, but he didn't say anything. I knew that his deference toward Kay was rooted in respect for his wife, but that wouldn't last forever.
Petal Peterson brushed past me while I was searching for cream cheese to go with my mini bagel. Petal was the substitute host of Dishing with Kay, but since Kay rarely took days off, Petal didn't see a lot of air time. Her job was chiefly to promote Dishing and show her face on behalf of the studio at public events that Kay couldn't attend. She was younger than Kay by twenty years or better, she was wrinkle-free, and her blonde hair was natural. She gave me one of her celebrity-appearance smiles, its wattage dimmed by red eyes. She had the remnant of a bruise on her cheek. "Welcome to show business, huh?"
"Are you alright?" I asked her.
"I know. The eyes, right? My contacts are killing me, but I wouldn't be caught dead wearing my glasses. Even if I do walk into the occasional door." She gave me a self-effacing grin. "Good thing I'm not on air today. I wouldn't be able to see a thing." She flounced off, veering around Bull's heft on her way down the hall toward the offices.
Cindy appeared next to me. "What'd you think of today's display?"
I shook my head. "How do you put up with her?"
"Oh, the lipstick thing?" She shrugged. "She raids my makeup kit all the time. She picks all the wrong colors, of course, but Kay likes to think she can do everyone's job better than they can. It doesn't bother me. Could you hand me a water?"
"Really?" I passed her a bottle. "You must be an angel."
"I may not have to deal with her for much longer. I'm up for a job in New York. A new sitcom. It might even pay enough to send Bryan to private school." She flushed. "I already splurged on a new Prius."
I smiled at her. "That's great! When will you know?"
"Soon, I hope." She picked up an old-fashioned and put it back down again. "It's what I've always dreamed of, doing celebrity makeup."
"I'm sure they'll miss you around here." I took a bite of the bagel.
Cindy shrugged again. "Some of them will. Not all. It doesn't matter. Dishing may not be around too much longer anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"Kay doesn't draw any viewers," Cindy said. "Today might just be the last straw."
My gaze shifted to
ward Kay's office and the man who must be her agent shaking a paper at her. He looked like he had enough problems in life without Kay. His eyes drooped, his hair needed a trim, and he was wearing white socks with black shoes. "Does she know?"
"I'd say she does. Kay's threatening to sue for breach of contract. She has another year left, and she wants every day of it. It's been making her even nastier than usual."
I shook my head. "That's saying something."
"You got that right." Cindy tapped the lip of the bottle against her lower teeth. "The thing is, she doesn't have to be. I think she just likes it. I've never met anyone like her."
Maybe she hadn't, but I sure had. Hilary Heath, the succubus that was the widow of Doug Heath, a founding partner of the former Parker, Dennis & Heath. A shiver ran through me.
"Oh well." Cindy capped the bottle. "Time to go back to work. I have to prep a charity appearance later."
"Did you tell her you might be leaving?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Not yet, but I had to use her as a reference, so it won't be hard to figure out. She'll be happy to see me go. She always hated my lipstick choices." She gave me a wink and hurried off.
While I stood there polishing off my bagel, Rod ambled over in his easy, loose-jointed way to grab a bottled orange juice. He gave me a smile that made me want to cook him dinner and feed it to him on satin sheets in the candlelight. Except I couldn't cook, and I didn't have satin sheets or candles. I was a fleece and electricity kind of girl.
"Bet you like your job a little more after seeing that," he told me.
I wouldn't go that far. "Has this happened before?"
"What, Kay running off the guests?" Rod twisted the cap off his bottle. "This isn't the first time. Remember Councilman Shuster? He showed up with his shih tzu Hercules. One growl out of Hercules and Kay refused to tape. Said she won't work with animals." He took a drink. "It was a show about rescuing shelter dogs. Talk about missing the point."
I glanced over at Bull, who was shaking his giant head at something Tony was saying.
"Must waste a lot of money," I said.
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