by K. N. Casper
“Get me the anchor job, Faye, or I’m out of here.”
She didn’t like being used, threatened, bribed. But, God help her, she didn’t want to lose him. “This isn’t the time or place to be discussing this,” she said, and turned back toward the bathroom.
“That’s because there’s nothing to discuss,” he said, as she closed the door.
Saturday, February 22
“SHE’S MADE US a laughingstock,” Faye Warren stormed, as she slammed a newspaper down on Renn’s desk the following morning.
He’d already read the article on the front page of Saturday’s Coyote Sentinel. It noted that Marlee Reid, the only woman sports reporter at KNCS-TV—or in town, for that matter—had barged into the men’s locker room after TUCS’s upset victory over Angelo State the evening before to get an exclusive interview with Ty Jameson, the team’s high scorer. It quoted Coach Dreyfus as saying he’d had to order the young woman out and that he would lodge a formal complaint with the television station for the unprofessional behavior of their reporter and photographer.
Renn had hung around the newsroom the evening before long enough to help Mickey Grimes put the final touches on a story about the upcoming fraud and embezzlement trial of the former school superintendent, then he’d gone home. There, he’d received the call from Dreyfus. Renn would have laughed at the situation if the man hadn’t been so genuinely furious. Images of tall naked basketball players being confronted by a sexy, blond reporter who was undoubtedly trying not to stare at exposed body parts made it almost impossible to respond to the irate caller without a smile in his voice.
After about twenty minutes of sympathetic listening to the coach’s harangue, Renn had gotten him to calm down. Dreyfus still wasn’t happy about the situation, but he’d backed off on his demand that Marlee be fired. They hung up in time for Renn to catch the ten o’clock report and Marlee’s sports segment. He was impressed. She’d done a good job, appeared unruffled in her close encounters with the male of the species, and the editing had been excellent.
His attempt to get her an interview with Bill Parcells, the Cowboys’ coach, had failed, but so what? From what he’d just seen, she didn’t need any help from him to make herself known. He’d considered calling her at the station to discuss the spot she’d put herself in but decided to let it wait until the morning.
All night he kept imagining himself in the naked players’ position with Marlee gazing at him. Be still my heart.
Except in this case, the heart wasn’t the organ most prominently affected.
He also asked himself how much responsibility he shared for what she’d done. He’d have to be more careful in his choice of words with her in the future. She seemed to follow his advice too literally and too far. Dangerous. But exciting, too. Life with Marlee Reid wouldn’t be predictable.
“There’s an adage,” he said now to the seething vice president, “that even bad publicity is good.”
Her gray eyes narrowed. “Are you condoning this?”
He ignored the question. “Did you see the story she put together last night?”
Faye’s glaring silence verified his guess that she hadn’t.
“The interview was excellent. She did a very professional job—”
“I don’t call flaunting herself in front of a bunch of naked men professional—”
“Flaunting?” He snorted. “Marlee was the one with the clothes on.”
“And neither does Sal Bufano,” Faye charged on, overriding his observation.
Oh, great.
“She could have asked her questions outside the locker room like everyone else. She didn’t have to invade their privacy, not to mention breach NCAA regulations by ignoring the ten-minute cooldown period.” She took a pace in the cramped confines of his office, spun around and addressed him with an outstretched hand. “What is she trying to do—get us banned from covering future games? This kind of conduct is inappropriate and unacceptable. I hope she had a good time, because she just kissed the anchor job goodbye.”
Renn shook his head. “You’re overreacting.”
She glowered at him.
“Marlee might have been a bit aggressive for a woman.” He emphasized the last words and had the satisfaction of watching Faye’s lips tighten. “But I think you’re forgetting an important factor.”
“And what might that be?”
“Our ratings during the sports segment soared last night. When word got out that Marlee had violated the men’s locker room, people couldn’t stay away.”
Any other feminist would have delighted in his choice of words, but Faye remained stone-faced.
“We want viewership, and we got it,” he concluded.
She strode back and forth in front of his desk. “Voyeurism in the locker room isn’t the image we want to project.”
She didn’t fool him. The notion of walking in on a bunch of naked guys titillated her as much as it had every other woman at the station. It was amazing how many of them just happened to stop by this morning to review the tape. Too bad there was no way to break out what percentage of their television audience the night before had been female.
“She and Wayne did a great job of editing,” he pressed on. “Everybody knew they were in a men’s locker room, but it was as chaste as a chapel.”
She screwed up her mouth and rolled her eyes. “Hardly.”
Actually, Wayne had been very discreet in his filming, to the chagrin of some of the staff, who talked him into letting them see the uncut version. Still, imagination was a potent faculty.
“It doesn’t really matter. She won’t have to do that again.” He chuckled. “For the foreseeable future, people will be tuning in just to see what happens next.”
They both knew he was right. He also understood Faye’s dilemma and frustration. Marlee had broken the rules, breached conventional conduct—a perfect excuse to eliminate her from consideration for the anchor job. At the same time, however, she’d also increased viewership and placed herself in the spotlight in such a way that the station would probably take a beating from the public and come across as petty if they fired her. The overwhelming majority of the callers regarded the caper with humor, if not approval.
“Did you know she was going to pull this…stunt?”
So Faye suspected them of being in cahoots, conspiring against her. What would she have said if he’d snared the Parcells interview for Marlee? In this case, he almost wished he could claim credit. He’d told her to be boldly aggressive and dramatic. She’d done so in spades.
“I’m not even sure she knew herself before she actually did it,” he said.
Faye didn’t appear convinced. “It’s still unacceptable behavior, Renn. She needs to be made aware of that. I want her formally reprimanded in writing. This is a family-oriented station. Another incident that brings our image into question, and she’s history. Got that?”
He nodded but said nothing.
MARLEE WAS PSYCHED. The calls she’d received after the broadcast last night had ranged from highly complimentary to a few that condemned her to hellfire. She basked in the first and dismissed the latter. Her eternal salvation wasn’t in the hands of her viewers, but her career was.
Most people treated her piece as a great lark. Except for Coach Dreyfus, of course. She’d stopped by his house this morning to see if she could soothe his ruffled feathers. He wasn’t a bad guy, really. She’d just caught him off guard. Once she’d appealed to his good nature and sense of humor, pointed out all the positive publicity she’d generated for his team and promised not to break the rules again, he’d calmed down.
She’d tried, too, to imagine what Clark’s reaction would have been. The thought made her smile. He probably would have wagged his finger at her and laughed.
Maxine Howard, Faye’s secretary, caught up with Marlee as she was making her way across the newsroom to her work cubicle.
“I wish I had your nerve, girl.” She giggled and gave Marlee a high five. “Just barging in
like that. You must have really gotten an eyeful.”
She and Wayne had had less than thirty minutes to edit the tapes. There’d been only a few shots that had to be censored, and a couple she left alone because they were provocative without being offensive.
Marlee chuckled. “They were pretty fast at hoisting the white flag…er…towel.”
“But not fast enough, right?” When Marlee just pursed her lips and sucked in her cheeks without offering further comment, Maxine grinned lasciviously. “Tell me, is Ty…uh…as impressive up close and personal as he appears on the court?”
“Well,” Marlee drawled, “let’s just say he has big feet.”
Maxine cocked her head, then let out a hoot, which she quickly suppressed with both hands.
Suddenly, Marlee sobered. “Maxine, what are you doing here on Saturday?” Faye’s secretary worked Monday through Friday.
“Boss lady called this morning. Said she wanted me to come in and dig out some stats for her.”
Lightheartedness fled, instantly replaced with panic. Was the VP going to fire her? Or was she satisfied now that Marlee was the person for the job, that she had the aggressiveness and cool to handle a hot situation? She snickered to herself. Hot was an understatement. She was a woman, after all, and she had been in a room crowded with virile young men. Oh, yeah, definitely hot.
“Has she ever asked you to do that before?”
Maxine shook her head and gazed at Marlee. “Nope. This is a first.”
That didn’t sound encouraging. Marlee had come in to see if Quint Randolph could use some help. The junior reporter was excited about taking over from her as weekend anchor, and he’d done pretty well so far, but she knew he was nervous about it. A little unobtrusive moral support never hurt.
“Where is she now?”
“They’re talking.”
Marlee didn’t have to ask who her friend was referring to. Faye and Renn.
“What kind of mood is she in?”
Maxine frowned and leaned against the door frame. “She was practically wearing a trench in the carpet when I got here, pacing in front of her desk with the newspaper clutched in her fist.”
Definitely not a good sign.
“She had me check last night’s ratings twice,” Maxine added, “and get her a detailed breakout of how they compared with the coverage we had before and after Clark’s death, as well as Tag’s last three analysis shows.”
Now, that was interesting. “How did I stack up?”
Maxine grinned. “Except for the initial coverage of the bus wreck and drownings, you were higher than all of them, even Clark, and miles above Tag. Without Clark to pull his chain and feed him straight lines, pretty boy’s numbers have tanked.”
Being pleased by someone else’s misfortune wasn’t very nice, but in the TV news business there was no room for humility or charity. Besides, this was Taggart, the blowhard she had to beat. If Faye was being true to form, the higher ratings would weigh more in her judgment than any pique she might have over the unkind remarks about the station in the editorial section of this morning’s paper.
“How long have they been at it?” Marlee asked.
“Just a few minutes.”
She couldn’t help but fidget. Was Renn up there agreeing that she’d stepped over the line, that she’d killed her chance to be seriously considered for a supervisory management position? He claimed he was pleased with her as a reporter, but his constant harping on her mistakes sure hadn’t substantiated that. Maybe he’d been patronizing her because he saw how hard Clark’s death had hit her. Maybe he’d never really wanted her to stay on at all and she’d played right into his hands with this episode.
“Has she said anything about the anchor job?”
Maxine lifted her chin. “Now, Marlee, you know I would never listen at doors.”
“Of course not,” Marlee responded with equally mocking seriousness. “But if you just happened to be passing by when the subject was being discussed, what do you think you might hear?”
Maxine snickered. “She usually keeps the door closed, but being as she spends a considerable amount of time in consultation with Taggart, it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out they’re not talking about the weather forecast.”
As far as Marlee was concerned, their personal lives were their business—unless pillow talk became a conflict of interest. She could accept losing the job to someone more skilled and more experienced than she was, but Taggart didn’t fit either of those categories.
Maxine stared across the wide expanse of desks to the main entrance.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in, on a Saturday, too.”
Taggart sauntered into the reception area with the swagger of a teenager after his first sexual conquest. Head held high, he gazed around the nearly empty newsroom, an emperor surveying his domain.
“Looks like the Cock of the Walk is about to grace you with his presence,” Maxine said in an undertone.
Both women watched him wend his way toward them through the maze of desks and filing cabinets.
“A fine figure of a man,” Maxine added with a snort. “Too bad it’s all on the outside. Inside he’s full of—”
“Himself.”
They both laughed.
Obviously, the subject of their jocularity hadn’t heard the comments; otherwise he wouldn’t still have had that cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on his perfectly tanned face.
“Quite a show you put on last night,” he said to Marlee by way of greeting. He paid no attention to Maxine, who was standing beside her.
“Glad you liked it,” she replied, not at all sure his remark was intended as a compliment.
“Very much,” he acknowledged. The grin didn’t fade; in fact, it seemed to intensify. “If there was ever any question that you’re not suited for the sports director job, there isn’t now. You proved that very effectively. Why, in one fell swoop, you managed to humiliate the players—”
“Gee, they didn’t look humiliated to me,” Maxine piped in. “From what I saw on the tape I’d say they looked real pleased to see her.”
“Mind your own business,” he snarled at her. “This is a private conversation.”
“No, it isn’t,” she snapped back, unintimidated. “We’re standing in the middle of the newsroom. No expectation of privacy here.”
“Maxi…” Marlee cautioned, not wanting the woman to get called on the carpet or even fired for being a smart mouth, but her friend didn’t back down. She just folded her arms and gazed defiantly at the man in front of her.
He glowered, seemed to weigh his options and apparently decided to simply ignore her. He returned his attention to Marlee.
“Let’s see. You broke official NCAA rules, embarrassed yourself on camera and brought disgrace to the station. Nice going. Really impressive. I couldn’t have set you up better myself if I’d tried. But of course I didn’t have to. You’re doing a very good job without any help from me.” His eyes narrowed in amusement. “I must say, though, sweetheart, that I had no idea you were so hard up for the sight of a man’s naked body. All you had to do was say something and I could have accommodated you with something worth looking at.”
Maxine groaned. “Oh, brother.”
Marlee was speechless. She couldn’t believe he was being such an brazen ass, especially in front of a witness.
“But never mind,” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard his lover’s secretary. “You probably wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway.”
“Do you know what sexual harassment is?” Marlee asked him.
“I believe it’s what those boys can charge you with.” He smiled, totally confident he had the upper hand. “I wonder if they will.”
Icy panic slithered down her spine. A slick lawyer could probably argue that as an older woman she was in a position of power—and she had gone in with bright lights and a cameraman. Oh, God. She’d never considered the possibility. Then another thought struck her. Wasn’t that exactly the situa
tion between him and Faye? An older woman in a position of authority. Marlee wondered if her lawyer could use that in her defense. Before she realized it, she was laughing.
Maxine tilted her head, unaware of the joke, her arched brows expressing eagerness to be let in on it. The smirk faded from Taggart’s face. He’d just announced her career aspirations were toast, and she was laughing. Didn’t make sense. He looked totally confused. Which only made Marlee laugh harder.
“Don’t worry about me,” she told him, after regaining control of herself. “As with Mark Twain, the rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated.”
He shook his head in a attitude of pity. “You can laugh if you like, but that doesn’t change the situation. You’re finished, sweetie. The station will never put you in the anchor seat now. When word of this spreads, if it hasn’t already, you’ll have a tough time getting a job anywhere in the industry.” He touched his index finger to his forehead in a mock salute. “Have a nice day, girls.”
They watched him amble down the hallway to his office. Everyone else rated a cubicle. Taggart had a room with a door.
“Uh-oh,” Maxine intoned. “There goes Renn. I better get back to the boss lady.”
Marlee glanced down the hallway but didn’t see him. “Where’d he go?”
“Into his office. See ya.” Maxine hurried over to the stairwell.
Barely fifteen seconds later, Marlee’s phone rang. She knew who it was before picking it up.
“This is Marlee Reid. How may I help you?”
“Please come to my office,” Renn said.
She tried to gauge his words. His tone was polite—he’d said please, which wasn’t a word he used very often—but beyond that she detected nothing. Civility could mean he was in a good mood or he was furious, that he had good news to tell her or bad.
“Yes, sir.”
Her fingers trembled as she grabbed a steno pad and pencil. Was he going to give her a pat on the back or a pink slip?
CHAPTER FIVE
THERE WAS NO SENSE putting it off. Renn moved from behind his desk, wishing for the hundredth time he didn’t feel so boxed in. Someday, he promised himself, he’d have a job with a big picture window, preferably up high, and a panoramic view. A tap on the door tumbled his thoughts back to earth.