by K. N. Casper
“The problem is Faye still wants to give the job to Taggart, and I’m still saying no. That’s what our meeting was about today.”
So Glenda had been right. The obstacle was Faye, not Taggart. Not Renn, either, if he was to be believed. She wanted to very much.
“Marlee, I’m more convinced than ever that you’re the best choice for the job, regardless of who the other candidates might be.”
Other candidates? “Is there someone else besides Taggart?”
“No, it’s still just between the two of you. Look, don’t worry about the Live Center,” he went on. “Audiences block out background after a while. That’s why we change sets periodically. People don’t really care where you stand or sit, as long as you appear to be comfortable with your surroundings. They’re interested in what you have to say. When you do move to the anchor desk—” he offered her an encouraging smile “—they’ll applaud and say it’s high time. Until then, just stay focused on content.”
She nodded, then started to get up. “Oh, is that why you wanted to see me?”
“Uh…no.” He waved her back into her seat. “I was wondering if you were planning to attend the Alegre dinner. The station’s bought a table—I guess they do every year. You’d know that better than I would.” He was rambling. “I’ve been given two tickets, and I thought…if you haven’t already bought one…we might go together.”
Her eyes widened. He was unable to determine if it was in pleasure or disapproval.
“Of course, if you have other plans or already have a date—” he started.
“No,” she said quickly, then stopped, as if her haste were giving something away.
The important message was that she didn’t have a date, which meant she would be free to go with him and that she probably wasn’t seeing anyone steady. Unless, of course, she had a boyfriend who was out of town.
“I mean I am planning to go to it. Audrey asked me to be her guest.”
“Oh.” He should have realized Clark’s widow would want Marlee by her side.
“Actually, Mrs. Preiser asked me if I would put together a tribute to Clark, since he was the person who inspired her to establish Alegre in the first place and was such a help in getting it organized.”
The mood had suddenly changed, and he began to hope. “I knew it was Clark’s favorite charity.”
“Would you be willing to help me with the tribute?” Marlee asked. “I’d like it to be multimedia. I figured we could use some film clips and still photos. I’d appreciate your advice writing the script. I’m probably too close to be objective.”
Renn felt a kind of glow inside. He hadn’t heard about the tribute. Apparently, the station hadn’t been informed. Marlee, of course, was the perfect one to give it, but her wanting him to lend a hand set his pulse tripping.
“I’ll be glad to help in any way I can.” He smiled happily at her. “This is really a great opportunity, not just to honor Clark, but to put you in front of people as his successor. It’s perfect.”
The careworn lines on her face faded, replaced by the vivid animation Renn had come to treasure.
“I’ll get together with Audrey and Mrs. Preiser this weekend,” she said, “and see what they have to contribute.”
“Good, good.”
He felt like a teenager who couldn’t believe the homecoming queen had agreed to go to the prom with him.
She checked her watch. “I’ve got to run. It’s almost show time.”
For a moment he considered apologizing again for her having to use the Live Center, but decided it would be a downer on what had turned out to be a very positive encounter.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MARLEE LEFT Renn’s office with a smile on her face. She wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but whatever it was, it made her feel good. This was the first year she was able to attend the dinner. In the past it was during March Madness, when all the college basketball teams were ending their seasons with championship competitions, and she’d spent most of her time traveling from game to game to cover them.
This was also the first time Renn had asked her out socially, and he was going to help her with Clark’s tribute. They’d be working closely together on something personal. The prospect stirred ripples of panic, yet warmed her blood in a way that was…stimulating.
She was probably reading too much into this. The Alegre dinner wasn’t exactly a date. Not like he’d asked her out to a restaurant or dancing, although it was a dinner, and there would be a band.
This was a business function, a PR event, she reminded herself. He hadn’t even bought the tickets; they’d been given to him by the station.
No, this wouldn’t be a real date.
She returned to her cubicle and sat down, the bubbly sensation still showing on her face.
“Are you going to let me in on the secret?”
Marlee’s head shot up. Trish Beasley, Renn’s secretary, was standing in the opening between the partitions.
“Looks awfully pleasant whatever you’re daydreaming about,” she said.
“Oh, nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” Trish grinned. “What did he want?”
Marlee shuffled papers on her desk. “To know if I was going to the Alegre fund-raiser.”
She pictured them in a slow number, their bodies close, touching, his legs brushing up against hers.
“I just put the tickets on his desk. He sure didn’t waste any time asking you.”
“We’re going to be working together on a tribute to Clark.”
“Ah, so that’s what has you smiling like a satisfied cat. What else are you going to be doing together?”
“Nothing,” Marlee snapped. “And don’t start spreading rumors. That’s the last thing I need. Faye—”
“Will be taking her boyfriend. Hey, Renn’s hot. No reason you can’t—”
Marlee felt a moment of panic. She wasn’t getting involved with him, and she couldn’t let people think she was. “Please, Trish, don’t make this any more complicated than it already is.”
Her friend’s face melted into a conspiratorial smile. “My lips are sealed. But remember, you’re the one who brought up complications.”
Thursday, April 10
“OH, NO! Oh, crap!”
Marlee raced into the editing booth. Wayne was fumbling frantically with the buttons on the front of a cassette deck while the machine screeched, followed by a crackling pop as the tape snapped.
“Turn it off! Turn it off!” Marlee ran over and hit the Power button. The recorder ground to a halt.
Wayne’s hands shook, his eyes wide, as he stared at the malfunctioning equipment.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I was rewinding Mr. Taggart’s interview with Bill Parcells and all of a sudden it started making these weird noises. I hit the Stop button and then the Eject button, but nothing happened. Oh, God, he’s going to kill me.”
Judging from the sounds she’d heard, she suspected it wouldn’t be salvageable. “Is there a dupe?”
The photographer shook his head. “This was the only copy. I was rewinding it, getting ready to make a backup…. He’s going to kill me. I’m going to be fired. I know I am. What am I going to do? I can’t afford to lose this job, not now. Not with the new baby. Oh, God, how could this happen?”
“Let’s see if we can recover any of it,” she suggested.
“First, we have to get it out of the machine,” he said, without much hope.
He turned the machine on again. The same high-pitched whine ensued. Marlee instantly hit the Power button. After trying unsuccessfully to pry the cassette drawer open, she picked up the phone and called Charlie Walhof in Maintenance and asked him to bring his tools.
Ten minutes later, the repairman had removed the plastic cassette and broken open the case. What was left inside was curled, stretched and broken beyond redemption.
“When was he supposed to run this?” Marlee asked.
“On his show thi
s coming Sunday.”
“Not now, he isn’t,” Charlie muttered as he ran his fingers through the skein of magnetic filament. There was hardly a foot-long length that wasn’t mutilated in some way.
“What the hell is this?”
They all turned to see Taggart standing in the doorway, legs spread, hands on his hips.
He stared at the pile of ruined tape. “That better not be what I think it is.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Taggart,” Wayne said. “I don’t know what happened. I was just rewinding it when something snapped and—”
“Are you telling me that’s my interview with Bill Parcells?”
Wayne recoiled at the savageness of the other man’s tone. “Yes, sir.”
“There damn well better be a backup.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t get a chance to make one.”
Taggart took an aggressive step into the room, his hands curled into hard fists. The younger man instinctively retreated.
“Bill doesn’t do interviews. He did this one as a special favor to me, and now you’ve destroyed it.”
“I’m real sorry, sir,” Wayne repeated, unable to hide his fear. Marlee sensed the young man was right to be afraid. Taggart was known to have a violent temper; he certainly had the physical power to inflict pain on the much smaller man.
His face beet-red under the perfect tan, Taggart suddenly growled at Marlee, “You’re responsible for this.”
“Me?” she cried in shock. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“You instigated this.” Taggart was breathing hard. “I know you did.” He glared at the photographer again. “I hope she paid you well, because whatever it was it’s going to have to last you a long time.”
“Please, Mr. Taggart,” Wayne begged. “It was an accident. I swear.”
But Taggart wasn’t listening. He stormed out of the room and turned right toward Renn’s office.
RENN SLOUCHED in his chair and scrubbed his face. Taggart had just left, after demanding that Wayne Prentice be fired. He’d also intimated that Marlee was behind the plot, as he called it, to discredit him.
“You’re in on it, too, aren’t you?” Taggart had sniped. “I should have known.”
“Known what?”
“You’re not fooling me or anyone else.”
“Be very careful about making accusations you can’t substantiate, Taggart,” Renn had warned, “unless you want to find your ass hauled into court on charges of slander and defamation of character.”
“I want Prentice fired.”
“What I do about Prentice is my business. Now, get the hell out of here.”
Taggart had left, but his venomous attitude still poisoned the air. At the sound of a tap a few minutes later, Renn looked up, to see Marlee standing in the doorway.
“What are you going to do to Wayne?”
Renn took a deep breath, pleased with the sight of her. For a moment, at least, things didn’t seem so bad.
“Taggart’s out for blood,” he said, “and I can’t blame him. That was an important interview, one he’s bragged about on his Sunday-night show for a couple of weeks. Not delivering the goods will make him look bad to his public.”
“I don’t suppose he could redo it.” Marlee took the seat across from him.
He shook his head. “Not a chance. Taggart was able to corner Parcells into this one only because he was in town visiting his ailing aunt who lives in a retirement center here and supposedly knew Tag from back when. Not that there was much to it. Wayne said it didn’t last very long, about five minutes, and wasn’t all that informative. I seriously doubt the coach said anything new, anyway. The whole point of it was for Taggart to upstage your interview with Hillman.”
“Would it be possible for him to do a telephone interview in its place?”
Renn’s brows rose. He scratched his chin. “Not quite as effective, but it might work. Tag could show some archive clips while they’re talking. Good idea. I’ll suggest it to him. Parcells probably won’t go for it, but it’s worth a try.”
“Don’t fire Wayne.” Marlee implored as much with her eyes as her words. “It was an accident. This isn’t the first time a tape’s gotten mangled in a machine. Wayne has a wife and baby at home—and probably a mountain of bills.”
She was really worried about the kid, and Renn couldn’t blame her. With a young family to support, the guy probably didn’t have any resources beyond his weekly paycheck. Renn had no doubt, though, that Taggart would be running to Faye about this, undoubtedly with his outlandish accusation that everybody was out to get him. Taggart couldn’t demand to know what action was taken against the photographer, but she could.
“I’ll give him a written reprimand,” Renn said after a brief pause. “If nothing else happens, I can pull it from his records in ninety days, and no one will be the wiser.”
“Thanks,” Marlee said. “You’re doing the right thing.”
He smiled, and refrained from quipping that no good deed went unpunished.
Saturday, April 12
THE CRYSTAL BALLROOM on the mezzanine floor of the Coyote Hotel had been refurbished several years earlier, its crown molding, friezes and fresco medallions restored and revived. The dominant feature was the huge crystal chandelier in the middle of the ornate ceiling, flanked by two smaller ones at both ends of the two-story, oblong room. Tall, multipaned, arched windows constituted the outside wall, their heavy damask drapes pulled back into pleated folds.
A small orchestra, made up of students from the university music department, was set up on a platform in front of a floor-to-ceiling antiqued mirror at the far end of the ballroom. The sweet strains of Mozart and Haydn were interspersed with classical renditions of The Beatles and The Grateful Dead. Beverage bars occupied the two opposite corners of the vast room.
The town’s movers and shakers were all present. Ranchers who donned faded jeans and dirty boots during the week were dressed tonight in tuxedos and patent-leather shoes.
Marlee was wearing a slinky satin, full-length burgundy gown that hid her legs but didn’t disguise her breathtaking curves. Her blond hair was held aloft by a band of pearls. Matching streams of smaller pearls dangled from her ears. Renn hadn’t missed her attractiveness when she was dressed in street clothes and jeans, but, dear Lord, how could he have missed this overwhelming beauty? She radiated charm, sophistication and more sex appeal than he’d ever imagined. He was unnerved when he realized, as they stood in the doorway surveying the other guests, that his palms were sweating.
At the bar he ordered white wine for her, red for himself. She smiled her thanks when he handed her the glass. The curve of her lips, the soft glow in her eyes brought a physical response. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, hadn’t been for a long time, but his body seemed to have forgotten that obvious fact. He definitely didn’t feel his thirty-six years.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said impulsively, like a fool. He’d already told her that when he’d picked her up. She’d think he didn’t usually regard her as pretty, which wasn’t true. It was just that tonight—
“You’re very handsome in your tux, too.”
He resisted the temptation to pull at his collar, which suddenly felt uncomfortably snug. Actually, all his clothes seemed tight, restricting.
A man came up from behind her and put his hand on the small of her back. She turned to him, took his hand and leaned up to kiss him sweetly on the cheek. “Danny, how are you? Haven’t seen you in ages…I didn’t know you were in town. Oh, excuse me.” She turned to Renn. “This is Danniker Milburn. Renn Davis, my boss at the station.”
Renn studied the guy. Late twenties with wavy blond hair, a smooth tan complexion, pale blue eyes, white teeth and dimples in his cheeks.
He held out his hand. “Call me Danny. Pleased to meet you.”
Renn muttered appropriate words.
“We were so sorry about Clark. Terry and I were in Mexico at the time and didn’t hear about his death till we got back,
or we would have come to the funeral. What a terrible tragedy.”
Marlee’s chin quivered. “He was a good man. I miss him.”
Danny squeezed her hand before releasing it. The three of them migrated away from the bar.
“Have you been sailing lately?” Danny asked.
She chuckled. “Haven’t had time. Renn here is a slave driver. Besides, I don’t own a boat anymore.”
“Sailing?” Renn’s interest was instantly piqued. “You never mentioned that you sailed.”
“She’s one of the best,” Danny told him.
Renn pictured her in a bikini on the deck of his catamaran, her silky skin bathed in sunshine, wind blowing through her golden-blond hair.
“Is Terry here with you?” she asked her friend.
Danny’s grin softened into affection. “Yep, and we couldn’t be happier.” He nodded toward a couple across the room—a tall buxom redhead in a low-cut dress, who was talking to a shorter dark-complected man.
Marlee touched his hand. “I’m glad. So are you living here now?”
“Still in Dallas. Just came into town to meet with a few clients and attend this function.”
“What kind of business are you in?” Renn asked.
“Commercial software development, heavy on video graphics. We tailor packages for specific needs and provide technical services.”
“Is it going well?” Marlee asked.
“Very. One reason we’re here is to look into expanding our business to West Texas. We’ve been doing a lot in this area via online support, but we think it might be time to establish a local presence.”
Marlee laughed. “You’re traveling in circles. You started out here, went to Dallas and now you’re talking about coming back.”
Danny chuckled. “That about sums it up.”
“What are you sailing these days?” she asked.
“We have a twenty-five-foot ketch on Eagle Mountain Lake, west of Fort Worth. Don’t get out nearly as often as we’d like, but it’s great when we do.”
Renn glanced over at the redhead who was now engaged in a conversation with one of the local bank presidents. She didn’t strike him as the sailing type, though he couldn’t say why. Appearances could be deceiving. Consider the surprises Marlee had already produced.