Blanket policy at DBS was that flowers sent to West End from fans were automatically redistributed to area hospitals and nursing homes. As a result, the same DBS policy had gone into effect here in Buffalo and Jessica hadn't seen any of the flowers well-wishers had sent, although she had heard the oohs and aahs up and down the hall from everybody else on the floor who had become their recipients.
"They're from my mom," Will said a little sheepishly.
"Your mother?" Jessica exclaimed, delighted. "Well then, I'm taking these home!" She walked over to the windowsill and lightly traced the rim of the low clay pot with her left hand. Then she turned around. "Do you really think she'll like me?"
He had to laugh. "Oh, gosh, yes."
"Even after she reads my book?" Jessica winced. "I think if I were a guy's mother, I'm not sure I'd want my son to be involved with a woman who admits to having had so many—“ She closed one eye. "Experiences?"
"Oh, Jessica," he sighed, coming over to her. "Sit down, darling," he said, quietly, sitting on the comer of the bed and pulling her next to him. "I need to talk to you for a minute."
She waited as Will looked down for a moment, scratching his head. Then he took her left hand in his and looked up. "My father scarcely ever drew a sober breath in all the years I knew him. And yet my mother loved that man like— Well, she loved him like no man who acted the way he did ever deserved. He destroyed my mother's life."
"Not completely/' Jessica disagreed. "Because she has you—and your sisters and your brother. You've all turned out so well. And you love each other."
"What I mean is," he started again, choosing his words with care, "she fell in love with a young man and married him. And I don't have to tell you how a lot of our parents took their vows in a much more sacred way than most people do today."
She nodded.
"She was going to stand by him in sickness and in health/' he continued, "and after four kids in six years, I don't think she had much choice but to stay with him, but by then he had really turned into a son of a bitch. I mean, Jessica, this guy was the meanest drunk. And every once in a while he'd try to go on the wagon and Mom would get so excited and so happy and full of plans and then—" Will shrugged. "You know, then one night, he'd come staggering in and she'd cry and he'd beat the hell out of me because I'd block his way when he tried to take a swing at Mom and..."
He shook his head, voice trailing off.
After a moment, he continued. "And you know? I think the thing that bothered me the most was that Mom was from such a good, hardworking family. They weren't rich, but they were comfortable, stable, never really wanted for anything. And then with Dad, she was thrown into the worst kind of poverty. The kind where even if there was money, a lot of it never made it home. Like she knew he had just thrown away the money that would have fed us for the week, or paid the rent, or might have eased things in some way. Like, God forbid, my mother ever had a dime to spend on herself." He looked away, sighing, "Oh, man," in a faltering voice.
Jessica swallowed.
Will brought his eyes back to her. They were moist. "I called my mom while you were missing. I was really upset. But it wasn't just being scared to death about where you were and if you were all right. Jessica—back at West End, they were raking through your past. Everybody was going over your ex-lovers and, well, one-night stands. They were trying to track all these guys down."
Jessica closed her eyes. "I didn't even think of that."
"No reason why you should!" he told her. "It's the past."
The way he insisted that it was the past made Jessica know how very much it must be torturing him in the present. He was human. The authorities had probably been pretty thorough, which meant—
Which meant an awful lot of embarrassing and humiliating stories, not to mention downright sick behavior, some of which she had scarcely hinted at in her autobiography because her editor had feared it would alienate readers.
Jessica opened her eyes. "So you called your mother because you realized you couldn't go through with this. That you had rushed into this relationship with me and then discovered you couldn't deal with my past. You couldn't deal with how many men I had slept with."
He looked at her for a long moment, his expression caught somewhere between pain and concern.
"It's all right, Will," she murmured, dropping her eyes. "I can understand that. And I think we should take a step back, particularly now. I mean, you've gone from being a boyfriend to a nursemaid for an invalid, and now you not only have my past to deal with, you've got this mess to wade through. And there's no reason for you to do it."
He shook his head. "You're so wrong," he whispered. He reached over to pull her chin up so she would look at him again. "Jessica, I admit it—I freaked out at one point, because this smarmy son of a bitch from the Darenbrook papers sat there and started saying all this crap—"
She winced. "How much of it has he written?"
"Oh, none," Will said quickly. "Alexandra's got something on him and so he doesn't dare."
Jessica laughed. "Good ol' Alexandra Eyes, my gun-toting, blackmailing friend."
He laughed a little, too. And then he rubbed his eyes, groaning. "Oh, it was bad, Jessica." He dropped his hand. "But Alexandra and I had a long talk about things, and she started talking about Georgiana's past and stuff like that. And then it passed. Because it wasn't real. I mean, yes, those things happened, but to look at the person you are today, and then to look back at the woman who was so ill that she thought drinking was the only thing that was holding her life together— He paused, shaking his head.
"I mean, Jessica—God doesn't make them any better than you. And what happened was, after this sort of emotional tantrum I had that one evening, I was so scared that I was going to lose you. It was like I was working through all these imagined difficulties in our relationship, but you weren't there to participate. I can't explain it really, other than the horror started to settle in that I might not ever see you again. That I knew how much I loved you, Jessica, and how, for the first time in my life I knew with all my heart I wanted to settle down and make a home, make a family, our house, our home—I mean, even if it just had a cat, it would be our home. Do you know what I mean?"
Tears were streaming down her face and she nodded.
"And I didn't know what to do! I'd never felt this way. I'd never felt so helpless. And I knew I had never wanted anything more in my life than to have the chance to make a life with you."
She was smiling through her tears; she wiped her eyes with her good hand.
"So I called Mom and I just told her the whole thing, from beginning to end. I'm sorry if that's bad—I mean, talking about you and stuff."
"No, families are supposed to talk," Jessica said, sniffing. "It's only mine that doesn't. So what did your mom say?"
"She was quiet for a long time, just sitting there, listening to me. And then when I finally finished, I realized she was crying on the other end of the phone." He paused, swallowing. "I said, 'Mom, what are you crying about?' And she said, 'I'm crying because my little boy has finally grown up and knows his own mind.'"
Will's eyes were a mess of tears now. "She said she never had to worry about me anymore, and that she had worried about me for years and years because she knew there was a part of me that would never let me get past what I saw go on between her and my father, and she thought I might not ever let myself love anyone fully." He let out a big breath, trying to regain control.
He looked at Jessica and took another breath. "She says only someone like you, who's been through what you have, and who's come out on the other side, could ever really understand someone like me—where I'm coming from." He paused. "Do you think that's true?"
She smiled. "I don't know. But I do know I love you, Will Rafferty, and I know that we've got a very complicated road in front of us."
"But it doesn't have to be." She blinked. "You think?" "I know," he whispered, moving forward to hold her. "And I think I know what we need to do."<
br />
Outside, in the hall, Wendy and Slim looked at each other. "Are you sure you got what Kunsa said right?" Wendy whispered.
"Yeah. He said to keep an eye on him." Wendy shook her head. "He's nuts."
"For her sake," he muttered, straightening his tie as an attendant approached the room with a wheelchair, "I hope to God you're right."
26
"No," Cassy Cochran said, sounding tired. "As a matter of fact, the investigation is not going well. The evidence against Dirk is only circumstantial, the kidnapper's dying and that murderous creep is in some kind of psychotic trance."
The DBS programming director asked, "How's Jessica taking it?"
"She doesn't know yet, thank God. She's got enough to cope with."
Cassy looked up as Langley Peterson arrived in the conference room, nodded to her and took his seat at the other end of the table. Also present were Denny Ladler, Alicia Washington and the executives in charge of advertising, sales, publicity and promotion, public relations and affiliate relations.
"I've called this meeting today," Cassy began, "to discuss the situation with 'The Jessica Wright Show.' I've had some very long talks with Jessica and also with her agent, and I have just received her final word this afternoon."
Everyone held their breath. Cassy looked down at the table. "She's not coming back"
"That's it, we're finished," the advertising-sales executive groaned, collapsing on the table.
Alicia's head had dropped forward into her hand, while Denny only looked sadly on.
"I can't believe it," Langley said, blinking several times. He turned to Denny. "Did you know about this?"
He shook his head. "No. I suspected, but—" He shook his head again.
"Denny, Alicia," Cassy said. "She wanted to tell you herself but I wouldn't let her. She's not very strong right now."
Denny waved it off. "I know."
"We've got the number one prime-time rating sitting there waiting for us with her first appearance back on the air," the affiliate-relations manager said, "and she won't come back. Shit," he added, dropping his hand onto the table with a loud thump.
"What we've got to do," Cassy said, "is select a new host and go with her or him a.s.a.p. Turn the whole publicity focus of the kidnapping into a means of introducing our new host."
"If it's anyone other than Oprah," the ad executive said, "then they'll just be jumping on in time to sink with the whole network."
"DBS does not depend on the success of one show," Langley said.
"Yeah, you keep saying that to us, Langley," the sales executive retorted, "but the reality is, it does. Everything hinges on Jessica. We've known that since the first week we went on the air. She's got the ratings, she's got the international following, and our sponsors support the rest of our lineup only because she continually delivers in her time period. Once in a while Alexandra pulls something out of a hat, but it's too little and too far apart. The long and the short of it is," he concluded, sweeping his hands out, "if we don't have Jessica and her ratings, we don't have a vehicle that the advertisers want."
Silence.
"I can't believe Jessica's just going to walk out on us," the publicity manager finally said.
"Oh, you think she owes us something?" Alicia asked him. "After all we've done for her? Like letting her get stalked, kidnapped, beaten and nearly killed?"
"That's enough, Alicia," Cassy said.
"No, it's not enough, Cassy," Alicia shot back. "These jackasses—" she gestured to the department heads "—don't care about Jessica. They never did. All they've ever cared about is getting their rear end up the next rung of the ladder, and if they don't do it here, they'll just go somewhere else. All talent's interchangeable to them. They don't care whether Jessica lives or dies." She stood up. "You saw them when she was kidnapped—they were ecstatic!" She dropped her arm. "Frankly, I'm glad Jessica's not coming back. She deserves to do something with her life other than supporting these shitheads in the manner to which they've become accustomed."
And with that, Alicia swept out of the room.
After a moment, Affiliate Relations said, "Maybe she should be our new host."
"No," Sales said, shaking his head. "There's Oprah and Yolanda and Gayle King already—"
"Oh, shut up!" Cassy said suddenly, losing all patience. She looked at Sales. "And she's right, you know. You really are—Something else." She picked up her pen. "I have to admit, though," she added more quietly, tapping her pen on the table, "I think Alicia's got possibilities myself. But I don't think she's ready."
"She needs to get more comfortable with the camera," Denny spoke up. "But I think she'd be very good in a couple of years. Jessica's been working with her, trying to pull her on stage more and more."
"And don't you ever, ever," Cassy suddenly added, pointing her pen back at the sales executive, “start spouting that crap.”
“I didn’t say anything bad!” he protested. “I was just point out that there are already a lot of black women—“
Cassy leaned forward and said through her teeth, "Shut up."
He opened his mouth, but thought better of it and closed it.
"Cassy," Langley said quietly.
She sat back in her chair, looking back down the table.
"Has Jessica really given her final word?"
"I'm afraid so."
"If we'd been through what Jessica's been through," Denny said, "we'd never want to be in the public eye again, either."
"You mean," the affiliate-relations executive said in astonishment, "she's quitting the business altogether? I thought she was just trying to get out of her contract to get a better deal."
Denny ignored the comment to address Cassy. "Is there any possibility that Alexandra might want to take the show?"
"What?" the publicist said.
"Denny," Langley said, leaning forward, "do you really trunk, that after all these years of building up the news division, Alexandra's going to want to host a talk show?"
"She might," Denny said. "And it doesn't have to be a talk show per se. Maybe a magazine show. Look at the ratings, all the magazine shows are there—'Primetime,' '20/20.'"
"We can't do a magazine show every night," Cassy said slowly. "But you know, it could just work. Alexandra, I mean. Her TV-Q's off the charts."
"Come on, Cassy," Langley said. "She'll never do it."
"No, Langley, it's not impossible," Cassy said. "Alexandra just might be interested in having a life someday, and anchoring the news division is never going to allow that. At any rate, all she can do is say no, and we might as well ask her before we go to the outside to find someone else."
"But even if she wanted to do it," Langley said, "is Alexandra warm enough for a talk show? That steel-magnolia thing of hers works in news, but—"
"She'll never have the body Jessica does, that's for sure," the sales executive said under his breath.
Cassy leaned forward over the table, holding her forefinger close to her thumb. "You are this far from being fired. So you sit up in your chair and pretend like you're a man and say something constructive."
"Maybe it would work with Alexandra doing the show," the sales executive said without drawing a breath, and Cassy looked as though she was going to throw something at him.
"The idea of DBS without Jessica, though," Langley said, shaking his head.
"And while we're talking about it,” Cassy added, "I might as well tell you, it looks like we're losing Will Rafferty, as well."
"What?" Langley cried.
Cassy nodded. "He's taking her to Europe for a while."
"What's going on in here?" Georgiana Hamilton-Ayres asked from the doorway. She looked in at Alexandra, who was in her bathrobe, lying on her back on the living-room couch. Georgiana glanced at the clock. "Don't you need to get to West End?"
"Good question," the anchorwoman said vaguely. Georgiana came in to sit beside her on the couch. Quietly, "What's going on?"
"I'm just thinking about how fast
my life's passing."
"Hmm,” Georgiana murmured, picking Alexandra's hand up to kiss it.
"And I'm wondering what I'm doing with my life," Alexandra finished.
This took the actress by surprise. "Why? What else do you think you should be doing?"
"Well, for a start," Alexandra said, pulling Georgiana's hand up in front of her and touching the band of diamonds there, "spending more time with you."
"Well, that's a relief," Georgiana said, smiling. "I thought you were going to say 'Make a serious play for Harrison Ford' or something."
"I hate us being bicoastal," Alexandra said suddenly, looking at her. "I was thinking how maybe I could move to California. And buy a ranch, maybe in Napa."
Georgiana looked a little confused.
"I was thinking how nice it would be to start a family."
"Oh," the actress said.
"Well, we're not getting any younger," Alexandra said. "And the one thing I know for sure is that if I keep doing what I'm doing, the rest of it's going to be impossible." She paused, looking back down at Georgiana's ring. "And I was thinking that if I quit, then I could have a child. And maybe you could have a child, and I could stay home and raise them. Or adopt some children, why not? We have plenty of money."
Georgiana threw her head back and laughed. "I'm sorry, darling, but the idea of you being content at home on the farm with a slew of children is rather hard to imagine."
"Why?" Alexandra protested, rising up on one elbow. "I'd run the farm—a proper farm, though, not like in New Jersey, a real farm—"
"I see," Georgiana said. "You'll strap the baby to your chest and go out in the fields..."
"Why not?"
Georgiana kissed her forehead. "Because, Alexandra, somehow it's just not you. I know you like to imagine that it could be."
"It's my heritage,” Alexandra pointed out.
"And darling, my heritage is to try and put Mary Queen of Scots back on the throne of England, but I'm hardly equipped to do that today."
Alexandra's large blue-gray eyes were studying her. "Do you really love me?"
Talk (The Alexandra Chronicles Book 4) Page 25