The Woman in the News

by K. N. Casper

  Touchy-feely. There had been a few occasions when his hand had brushed hers, when he’d looked over her shoulder to read an article, to examine a tape or mutter words of advice in her ear. Each time his closeness had set her pulse skittering. If his opinions and suggestions had been pesky before, they were unnerving now. She was much too aware of the heat of his body close to hers, of the low-voltage hum between them.

  “Thanks for giving Quint a hand with the weekend stuff,” he said. “He’s enthusiastic, but green.”

  Clark had hired Quint Randolph, a broadcast-journalism graduate from TUCS in December, as a second reporter. The rookie had filed only a couple of stories from the field before Clark was killed. When Marlee had taken over the weekday role, Quint had been thrust into her weekend anchor spotlight. He was a hard worker, but his inexperience showed. Fortunately, he was still humble enough to ask for assistance.

  She shrugged. “People helped me when I was coming up. There’s no substitute for on-the-job training. Actually, he’s not doing too badly under the circumstances.”

  Renn grinned. “Think he’ll ever get over his stage fright?”

  She shouldn’t laugh, but she couldn’t keep from chuckling. The lanky six-footer stumbled over his words, his voice was flat and he came across as an only slightly animated robot. His performance was painful to watch. A few viewers had registered complaints about his amateurish presentations, but most were patient and encouraging. Their forbearance wouldn’t last indefinitely, of course. If he didn’t start showing marked improvement soon, people would turn him off.

  “Clark felt the guy had potential,” she said, “and he had good instincts about people.”

  “Like you.” Renn grinned, making her nearly blush. “What was your debut like?”

  She shivered dramatically. “I don’t even want to think about it.” Studying Renn’s face, she decided this wasn’t idle chatter. He was sincerely interested. “No better than Quint’s. Probably worse. My voice came out too high and whiny.” She snorted. “I sounded like a strangling chipmunk.”

  The gleam in his eye lasted only a second, but in that instant the two of them ceased to be business associates. He was looking at her the way a man gazed at a woman, with the kind of teasing assessment that conjured up images of assignations, candlelight suppers and shadowy bedrooms.

  He laughed. “I doubt that. We’re our own worst judges.”

  “And you?”

  He covered his eyes with his hand and peeked between the fingers. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he intoned with mock seriousness. He dropped his hand and shook his head. “It’s too embarrassing.”

  She’d never seen this bantering, self-negating side of him before and found it both amusing and endearing. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

  He arched his brows, while his eyes sparkled playfully. “You wanna bet? I had two stories back to back, one about the president giving a speech at an international economic summit. The other was a local-interest piece about a circus that had just rolled into town.”

  “Uh-oh.” She wrinkled her nose, suspecting what was coming.

  He wagged his head. “It’s not as simple as you think. I didn’t just reverse the tapes—I got the pages of my script mixed up and was so intent on reading the words correctly that their meaning didn’t register. By the time I finished, the president of the United States had performed a double reverse somersault on the high trapeze, and the Great Wallendas had joined with the British prime minister in calling for international tariff reforms.”

  Marlee threw back her head and laughed.

  “And then there was the fly?”

  She forced the words out between chortles. “The fly?”

  “On my nose. Naturally, I didn’t want to swat it away. Instead, I kept staring down at it between sentences. I was cross-eyed during most of the telecast.”

  She rocked with laughter, not totally convinced what he was telling her was true, but it didn’t matter.

  “What did your boss say?”

  “Nothing. She was laughing too hard. In fact, for the next month, she started giggling every time she saw me. Definitely embarrassing. Not only that, she kept threatening to turn a bee loose in the studio for my next broadcast, just to see what would happen.”

  “Apparently, you survived.”

  He smiled and grew more serious. “Yeah. A lot of people helped me, too. So I guess we owe Quint the benefit of the doubt. You don’t mind mentoring him?”

  She shook her head and ejected a tape from one of the editing decks and changed the annotation on the label. “I enjoy sharing what I know with people.”

  She stacked the cassettes in the order she wanted them presented and started down the hall to the video bay where the tape operator would cue them up to show on the air. Renn followed closely behind her.

  “I’m even willing to show Taggart the ropes,” she added, “if he’s interested.”

  He stopped, touched her arm with his hand, compelling her to face him. “You’d do that?”

  She was as surprised she’d made the offer as he was. With a shrug, she said, “He’s going to have to learn it sometime.”

  “That’s awfully generous, Marlee, considering he’s gunning for the job you want.”

  “You said be a team member,” she reminded him, and resumed walking down the corridor.

  She could feel him observing her. At the door to the control booth she nervously pressed down the corner of the top label. The grin on his lips when she finally looked up matched the gleam in his eyes. More seemed to lurk in their depths than the acknowledgment that she was competing against a pompous ingrate. The complexity of Renn Davis never failed to intrigue and confuse her. He could be harsh and lighthearted, stern and tender.

  “If I don’t teach him,” she commented, “someone else will.”

  At that moment Taggart approached from the other end of the passage on his way to his office. Renn called out a greeting and invited him to join them.

  “What’s up?”

  “I want to try something new tonight,” Renn said. “Your numbers have been slipping lately, probably because viewers are used to seeing you with Clark. I’d like to put you and Marlee on together tonight.”

  Taggart stroked his chin. “I’ll be sitting in the anchor chair, of course. That’s fine with me.”

  “No,” Renn corrected him matter-of-factly. “You’ll still be in the visitor’s seat and Marlee in the Live Center, but we’ll bounce camera coverage between the two of you. Marlee will give her usual reports. Then, after each one, I’d like you to reply with an analysis.”

  Taggart eyes roamed as he tried to decide if this was some kind of trap. “She’ll have to give me what she’s going to be reporting on, so I can be prepared,” he said, as if she weren’t standing there.

  “Fair enough.”

  “And if you can tell me what your comments will be, I can give you an appropriate lead-in,” Marlee said.

  “I need to know what you’re going to report, but it isn’t necessary for you to know what I’ll say.”

  Renn slanted her an inquiring glance that said she could back out of this if she wanted.

  “That’s fine,” she agreed. “I’ll get you a list of my reports.”

  “By the way,” Renn added to Taggart, “Marlee’s willing to teach you the technical side of the business. Come in for an hour or two every day, and she’ll show you what she does and how she does it.”

  Taggart stared at him, then shifted his gaze to Marlee.

  “No, thanks, sweetheart,” he said with a feral grin. He turned back to Renn. “She’s not going to get any free labor out of me like some college intern. I’ll do what needs to be done when I get paid to do it. Not before.”

  He looked again at Marlee. “Nice try, though. I’ll be in my office waiting for your list,” he said, and walked away.

  Renn stiffened, his hands tightening into white-knuckled fists. Marlee touched his wrist and called out after her antag
onist. “Just trying to be a team player.”

  Taggart didn’t acknowledge it.

  “If you want to bring sexual harassment charges against him,” Renn grumbled between clenched teeth, “I’ll gladly testify on your behalf.”

  “It’s tempting,” she acknowledged, “but under the circumstances I’m afraid I’d just be labeled a troublemaker. Thanks anyway, though.”

  “Document this meeting,” he said, “and so will I.”

  His righteous indignation encouraged her. “Is he as confident of getting the position as he pretends?” she wondered aloud. “Am I wasting my time even trying?”

  “More like he’s afraid to show the depths of his ignorance,” he countered. “And you’re not wasting your time. Don’t give up, Marlee. I haven’t and I won’t.”

  His unconditional confidence bolstered her more than she imagined it would. Something had changed between them. She couldn’t say what exactly. There was still a tension, but it was different—and strangely appealing.

  One thing she did know was that if Taggart was hired, she wouldn’t be hanging around to tutor him. A pity, really. She’d miss watching him fall flat on his pretty face.

  Leaving KNCS-TV would also mean saying goodbye to Renn Davis, and she realized with a jolt, she didn’t want to do that.

  MARLEE SMILED into the camera. “And what will no doubt prove to be a watershed event in the world of sports, Annika Sorenstam received a sponsor’s invitation for the Colonial Golf Tournament in Dallas, the first woman to compete with her male counterparts on an even playing field, so to speak. No special treatment for this brave lady. Annika will be driving from the same tees as the men. All I can say is, may the best person win. Tag, what’s your take on this revolutionary event?”

  The control room switched coverage to the news set, where Taggart sat in his accustomed place.

  “This is a joke, right?”

  “Well,” Marlee drawled innocently, “Billie Jean King did beat Bobby Riggs in the battle of the sexes back in ’73.”

  “Only because he was twenty-five years older,” Taggart retorted. “In an even match men are always better at sports than women. It’s a scientific fact. This poor woman is going to be humiliated.” He shook his head, not looking regretful at all. “Of course it’ll be her own fault. I mean, come on, does she really think she can compete with the guys? I do feel sorry for any man who finishes behind her, though. Yeah, the view may be spectacular, but the term everybody will use to describe him afterward will definitely end with the word whipped. She’s not even going to make the cut. What’s your next item, Marlee?”

  Not sure whether to laugh or scream, she went on to her next story, confident they hadn’t heard the last of Taggart’s most recent analysis.

  Friday, March 28

  THEY SAT NAKED in her Jacuzzi side by side, while the warm water surged around them.

  “You better give me that anchor job pretty soon, Faye.” Tag sipped from a glass of chilled white wine. “My creditors are murdering me.”

  Faye let herself be buoyed by the roiling currents. “You’re not doing much to help me.”

  “Help you?” He peered at her.

  She shifted so that one of the jets massaged the tension in her right shoulder.

  “You’re the boss, sweetheart. Just order Davis to do it.” He took another mouthful of wine, reached over and refilled his glass from the bottle in the ice bucket. “This isn’t bad.” He examined the label. “Where’d you get it?”

  “The Cellar on Travis.” It was one of their most expensive domestic vintages.

  He smacked his lips. “You ought to buy more of this stuff. It’s good.”

  She needed to get the discussion back on target. “Every time I think I’m in a position to tell Renn to hire you, Marlee does something positive.” Something adventurous and brazen, like I used to do when I was her age, before I settled into the hollow safety of success. “Or you do something stupid.”

  He settled beside her, wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and squeezed. “I don’t appreciate being called stupid, sweetheart.” She winced and he released her. “Remember that.”

  “I didn’t say you. I was referring to what you do.”

  “Marlee’s the one who’s been screwing up.”

  To distract him from her transgression and soothe his wounded pride, she reached over and began fondling him.

  He smiled appreciatively. “She’s the one who busted into the men’s locker room. Speaking of busts…” He reached over and gently stroked her erect nipple.

  Faye hitched a short breath. “Renn’s nominating her interview with Hillman for an Affiliated Press Award. Hard—” which is what he’d become “—to fire her under those circumstances.”

  He moved his hand down her body. “I should have gotten that interview.”

  “Expecting her to turn it over to you was just plain—” His scowl discouraged her from finishing the sentence. “Then Renn does you a favor by integrating your show with Marlee’s—”

  “I was doing her the favor.”

  “Either way, you blew it.” She continued undaunted, “You alienated every woman in the audience, and probably a sizable percentage of the men.” She removed his hand and hers and turned to face him. “What the hell were you thinking when you made those sexist remarks about Sorenstam? God, Tag.”

  He reached for his glass and took a swig. “Doesn’t anyone have a sense of humor anymore?”

  Faye climbed out of the tub, reached for one of the towels she’d draped over the small table a few feet away.

  “Nobody’s laughing.” She began drying herself. “Sal isn’t. His wife isn’t. Our sponsors aren’t. You managed to get more mail than Marlee did with the Hillman interview, Tag. The difference is that yours was all negative.”

  “I’ll be vindicated, Faye. You’ll see. Sorenstam isn’t going to qualify. When that happens, people will forget their little hurt feelings.” He climbed out and took her towel from her. “I like you wet and slippery.” He pressed himself to her. “I need that anchor job, Faye.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Friday, April 4

  GLENDA SOAMES breezed into the reception area of KNCS-TV the following Friday morning with the force of a tropical storm and an equal amount of color. No dull grays or tans for Glenda. Parrot greens and reds, sunshine yellows and cerulean blues draped her statuesque figure. She might have been a movie star—an early avocation she nixed when she found out casting meant sleeping with the director. Not that she was averse to an occasional tumble in the straw, she admitted, but she reserved the right to choose with whom she tumbled. Besides, she had no thespian talent and couldn’t sing worth a toot.

  KNCS’s advertising executive looked around. The usual daytime air of busyness pervaded the newsroom, but today there was an added atmosphere of anticipation, like when a big story was about to break.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Peggy Faykus.

  “The bigwigs are meeting in the GM’s office,” the receptionist informed her. “They’re still trying to decide what to do about replacing Clark.”

  “When will they be out?”

  Peggy shrugged. “Should have broken up half an hour ago.”

  “Marlee with them?”

  Peggy shook her head. “In an editing bay, putting together her highlights for tonight’s roundup.”

  “Still getting accolades about her interview with Coach Hillman?”

  “Yep, and Taggart is still miffed at being preempted,” she added with a snort, “and the hate mail he’s getting over his male-chauvinist remarks.”

  The guy was a class-A jerk, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t come out ahead. He was in Faye’s knickers, and there was a good chance his head was overruling hers. Anatomy counted, and she knew from personal experience Taggart’s body parts could be very persuasive—if you ignored the ego attached to them.

  He’d hit on her the first time they met, when he was still coaching at TUCS. She’d put him
off, of course. Never accept the first invitation. They’d gone out twice after that. She didn’t believe in jumping a guy’s bones on the first date, either. She’d had no illusions that their liaison would be anything more than a diversion for either of them, but when the second date ended with them engaging in the old bouncy-bouncy, she’d found him too selfish to be truly satisfying. He was one of those guys who thought size was everything—and in his case, it was.

  Her curiosity satisfied, she discouraged any further relationship. It would have been nice if he’d shown the least regret, but he hadn’t. A month later, he married the graduate student she discovered he’d been engaged to all along.

  “Sounds like Marlee can use a breather. If anyone comes looking for her, she’s out for lunch and can’t be reached.”

  Peggy smiled. “Just what she needs.”

  Glenda strolled down the dimly lit corridor behind the receptionist’s desk and turned right into a warren of cubbyholes and booths. Marlee was standing in the third stall on the left, staring at a screen and pressing buttons on a remote control. Since the red sign over the doorway wasn’t illuminated to indicate recording was in progress, Glenda strolled in.

  Marlee’s initial annoyance at the intrusion quickly morphed to delight when she saw her friend.

  “Hey—” she froze the image on the screen “—figured you’d be around one of these days.”

  “I could say the same about you. How’s it going?”

  “Busy.”

  “No excuse. It’s time you took a break, girl.”

  Marlee didn’t argue, but she did hit the Play button.

  Glenda took a step back and pointed both index fingers at her. “Now, put down that control device,” she ordered the way a cop would command a felon to drop his gun. “You’re coming with me.”

  Marlee laughed. “Oh, yeah?”

  “To lunch at the Mesquite Grill,” Glenda declared.