The Woman in the News

by K. N. Casper

  “You must be hungry,” he said, his own mouth watering at the thought of the lasagna she’d made.

  “A little,” she admitted.

  The breeze died down almost as quickly as it had sprung up. Their progress slowed.

  “Shall I use the kicker?” he asked, referring to the ten-horsepower outboard motor.

  “I’m in no hurry,” she answered, her voice mellow and dreamy, probably from the combination of sun and wind.

  A speedboat zoomed by, splashing her with a cold plume of water. Her eyes went wide and her belly pulled in, then she crooked a startled smile and shivered. He ducked into the stateroom and retrieved one of the terry-cloth bath sheets he kept there.

  She gazed at him over her shoulder as he draped it across her wet skin. He kept his arms around her, leaned over and kissed her softly behind the ear. She nuzzled up to him.

  He coaxed her around, still in the circle of his arms and gathered her against him.

  “I’ll start the engine,” he said.

  “No.” She shook her head. “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s enjoy it.”

  “Aren’t you cold?” He could feel her pulse racing—almost as fast as his own.

  “Not with you holding me.”

  He dropped anchor, then led her into the small below-deck compartment. It contained a double bed on a low platform of drawers. They’d avoided this shallow chamber earlier, for it served no purpose except for sleeping. But the sun was set. He activated a switch that drew back the canvas covering the glass roof, inviting in the star-filled night.

  “You need to get out of that wet suit,” he said, sounding serious, probably because he felt as nervous as a teenager on his first date.

  Her eyes twinkled in the scant light. “Good idea. I’m afraid I got you all wet, too.”

  A MOMENT EARLIER she had been shivering; now she was hot all over, especially where his hands touched her shoulder and slowly teased down the straps of her top. She was burning up, yet she could feel the heat emanating from his body. He reached around and unsnapped her halter. She experienced a riff of panic when the damp fabric released her breasts, then an aching surge of pleasure when those hands stroked her pebbled nipples.

  She took a step backward, compressed her lips between her teeth and slithered out of her bottom. Kicking it impatiently aside, she stood naked before him.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmured breathlessly.

  He inhaled deeply and pulled his shirt over his head. His chest was lean muscled, his belly rippled.

  “Don’t stop now.” Delight bubbled in her voice.

  He met her eyes and smiled. “I’m not sure I could if I wanted to.”

  He kicked off his canvas deck shoes, sending them flying in different directions. They bounced and clopped somewhere. He stepped forward, caught her chin in his grasp and kissed her hard on the mouth. His free hand roamed the side of her bare torso, down to her hip and up again, finally cupping a breast.

  He broke off the kiss, but not his physical contact. With a treacherous smile, he tumbled them both onto the bed. Above her, she saw stars twinkling in the black sky. Closer, she felt Renn’s gentle touch, his ravenous mouth as he surveyed her body. She was floating, a gossamer feather on a warm cloud. Desire throbbed. Heat pulsed. Her blood raced.

  Her hands journeyed over his shoulders, slid up the back of his neck until her fingers were buried in his hair. He whispered her name and dragged his tongue across her quivering flesh from one nipple to the other. She was molten inside. Hot and steamy. Her need raw and ripe.

  He withdrew long enough to remove the last confining vestige of clothing, then groped in a drawer under the mattress for a Mylar packet. Their eyes danced as he knelt suspended over her. He covered her mouth with his. Her fingers raked his hard muscles. Her mind went blissfully blank except for the sensations that possessed her.

  She cried out when he entered her, not in pain but in agonizing pleasure. Anticipation gave way to possession. She rose to capture more of him. She indulged. She soared. She savored and wallowed in a shimmering haze of light and darkness. She gasped out his name when the first blinding shower of stars cascaded around her, pulling her in, devouring her and leaving her limp.

  Weak and defenseless, she smiled up at him, and the rhythm resumed.

  Monday, May 5

  AUDREY HAD BEEN pleasantly surprised by Marlee’s visit Sunday evening. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something different about her, a glow, a radiance. She understood it better when Marlee explained that she’d spent most of the weekend with Renn on his boat. Audrey suspected they’d done more than sail, but she didn’t pry. She was simply happy to see her adopted daughter so lighthearted. Which made the news of Marlee signing a new, punitive contract all the more shocking.

  Audrey’s first thought was to confront Faye with the unfairness of it, but she quickly dismissed that idea. Faye was the problem, not the solution.

  The best person to approach would be the general manager, Sal Bufano.

  Monday morning she drove to the television station. She’d always found the place somewhat disappointing, though she’d never told Clark that. It certainly wasn’t glamorous. Work spaces tended to be cluttered and shabby, a cross between improvised and worn-out. The sets that appeared pristine and professional on the air didn’t have nearly the appeal when seen in person. That, of course, was the illusion of the media and the magic of the theater, which she knew firsthand, having been active in college in the dramatic society. That was where she’d met Clark. They were both trying out for Brigadoon. The irony was that she’d gotten a part; Clark hadn’t. He’d gone on to make a form of entertainment his career, while she’d abandoned the bright lights altogether.

  She missed him and knew she always would, but they’d had twenty-eight good years together, she told herself. Not many women these days could boast that.

  The nondescript main entrance was all so familiar, except Clark didn’t pop out from behind a desk or partition with a smile on his face to greet her.

  “Mrs. Van Pelt,” Peggy Faykus said, her eyes wide with surprise at seeing her. She used to be “Audrey.”

  “Hello, Peggy.”

  “I…uh…didn’t know you were coming in. You cut your hair. Hey, I like it. A lot cooler in the hot weather, too.”

  She’d had it trimmed, a little more severely than she’d intended, and the result was hideous. Fortunately, her hair grew fast. “Thanks.”

  “Can I get you something, coffee?” Peggy asked. “I can make some fresh. Won’t take but a couple of minutes.”

  All this deference was making her feel old, useless. She was getting too much formal politeness lately, probably because it was easier than trying to figure out what to say to a grieving widow.

  “No, that’s all right,” she responded. “Actually, I was hoping to see Mr. Bufano. Is he available, by any chance?”

  “He’s not in yet, but I expect him any minute.”

  “If it’s all right, I’ll wait in the lounge.”

  The room that employees used for their breaks was square, with a pair of couches and six olive-green, cracked-vinyl armchairs. Vending machines lined one wall. Dog-eared magazines cluttered a scarred, simulated blond-wood metal coffee table. She wasn’t sure what color the thin carpet was supposed to be.

  She’d hardly read the first letter to the editor in the most recent edition of a newsmagazine, when the general manager appeared in the doorway.

  “Audrey, what a pleasant surprise.” He approached with outstretched hands. “It’s good to see you.” He kissed her fleetingly on the cheek. “How have you been?”

  “Fine, thanks. I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead. If I’m interrupting something, I can come back at a more convenient time.”

  “Nonsense. Let’s go up to my office. We’ll be more comfortable there.”

  As they climbed the stairs, he asked about the kids, how she was coping. At least he didn’t try to ignore Clark’s death, as so many pe
ople did.

  She had been in Sal Bufano’s office only once previously, several years earlier. He’d refurbished it since then. New tan leather furniture, maroon-and-gray striped wallpaper and thick forest-green carpet. Very tasteful and masculine. Formal portraits of his wife and two grown sons, one in a navy cadet uniform, added a homey touch.

  He offered a choice of beverages. She declined. He waved her to a chair and took his behind the desk.

  “Now, what brings you to see me?” he asked brightly.

  “I know I have no status here, but I’m concerned about Clark’s successor as sports director.”

  Sal nodded and became more serious. “He’s not going to be easy to replace, Audrey. Your husband was an institution. I don’t need to tell you that. Everybody loved him.”

  “I understand you’ve narrowed your choices to Marlee and Taggart.”

  “We prefer to promote from within, if at all possible.”

  “A policy Clark would wholeheartedly approve.”

  Sal smiled, and Audrey had the impression he didn’t know where she was going with this. Clark had liked the GM, respected him as an honest businessman, but he’d also considered him a little dense in some areas.

  “What Clark wouldn’t have agreed with, Sal, is giving the job to Taggart.” She’d considered bringing up Marlee’s pay cut but decided that would be interfering with internal policy, which was indisputably none of her business. Better to focus the discussion on public matters, such as the sports anchor.

  He leaned back in his leather chair, intertwined his fingers in front of him and studied her. “Why do you say that?”

  She had debated the next part very carefully. Marlee was right; short of Wayne Prentice admitting that Taggart had bribed him to sabotage her Friday show, the accusation couldn’t be verified. Audrey would be dismissed as a gossip, whose motivation and credibility were suspect. That didn’t particularly bother her, but Marlee might also be regarded as the source of the rumor, and that would definitely work against her. Audrey had, therefore, decided on another approach.

  “Are you aware of how Taggart tried to undermine Clark? He likes to brag about all the people he knows in the sports community, but my husband had a lot of friends there, too, friends who respected him. Word got back to him about some of the tales Tag was spreading.”

  Sal’s brows drew together. “What kind of tales?”

  “Intimations that Clark didn’t write his own material, that he had his staff do it for him. Taggart even had the gall to suggest that he furnished Clark with his predictions.”

  Sal frowned but didn’t say anything, making Audrey wonder if he thought the lies might be true.

  “Compare his record before Taggart got here, if you don’t believe me.” She had to keep her voice from becoming shrill.

  “Of course I believe you,” Sal insisted, disconcerted by her outburst of emotion. “Clark was the most honest man I ever met.”

  “Taggart also claims he was supposed to get the sports director post when Clark’s contract was up two years ago, that it was promised him when he came aboard.”

  “I’m not aware of any such promise. I certainly didn’t make it. We never had any plans to replace Clark,” Sal protested, his irritation palpable. “That’s nonsense.”

  “You might want to check with Faye about it. They’re pretty tight.”

  Sal’s mouth constricted, but he refrained from making a comment. Audrey wondered if he was aware of their sleeping together.

  He shifted uncomfortably on his seat. “Faye has nominated him for the job, Audrey, but as I said, no decision has been reached.”

  “Who’s going to make the final call?”

  He could simply tell her it was none of her business, but she didn’t think he would.

  “As you know, the sports department comes under Renn’s supervision,” he said, “so the choice is his.”

  “Subject to Faye’s approval.”

  “This is too big a decision to be made by him alone, especially since he’s been here such a short time—less than a year.”

  “Clark devoted half his life to this station, Sal. I’d hate to see his legacy destroyed. Frankly, I’m afraid if Taggart gets the anchor job, that’s exactly what will happen. I’m just a member of the public now, not that I ever had any influence over what went on here,” she hastened to add, “but I would like to request one favor from you.”

  “Name it, and if it’s within my power, I’ll grant it.”

  “I can’t ask you not to give the job to Taggart or to give it to Marlee, but I do beg you to carefully review the final decision when it’s made. Taggart may in fact be the best choice, but please be absolutely certain of it before you offer him the job.”

  “You have my word,” he said.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TAGGART CUPPED Faye’s breast, but his touch, instead of reassuring, felt somehow threatening.

  “I thought you were on my side, sweetheart.”

  She looked over, catching his profile against the dim light coming in through the bedroom window. The man was rakishly handsome from any angle, making her wonder if it was only his looks, his sexy body, that was his real attraction. He’d charmed her in the beginning, made her laugh and feel young, but lately, every comment sounded laced with sarcasm, every smile camouflage for a sneer. She’d never liked bitterness; it was unproductive, but it seemed the underlying emotion in their relationship. Bitterness and reproach because he was a man dedicated to instant gratification, and he wasn’t getting what he wanted right now.

  He was ambitious. She understood that. He was counting on her, and that pleased her immensely. What she didn’t want to admit was that she needed him. Not professionally. She’d risen to vice president of KNCS-TV on her own merits, by dint of hard work. Some would say by clawing her way to the top. Well, so be it. She could barely remember having been like Marlee Reid, young and idealistic. Ambition soon taught her that very sharp talons were essential to buck the crowd, to make your way in a man’s world.

  That was Marlee’s problem. She was too generous, too accommodating and forgiving. Well, she was about to discover none of that mattered in the real world. She wouldn’t be getting the anchor job she wanted so badly, and even if she did, she’d never be able to hang on to it. Maybe, Faye mused, she ought to award her the job, just to see how long she could keep it. It might be a good lesson for the young woman; let her learn early that good girls don’t last.

  “I am on your side,” she said in response to Taggart’s complaint, uncomfortable with the direction her thoughts and this discussion were leading.

  “What’s taking so long, Faye?” He angled himself onto his left side, crooked his elbow on the pillow and propped his head with his hand. He ran his right forefinger between her breasts. “I should have been named to Clark’s job by now.”

  She brushed his hand away. “I told you the station doesn’t want to be perceived as acting too precipitously.”

  “That’s crap,” he snapped. “You might be able to fool Marlee with that bull, but don’t insult me with it. You could have given me the position long ago. Why haven’t you? What’s the holdup?”

  She huffed out a breath. “Because it’s not my decision,” she explained, not for the first time. “I told you Sal insists on having the final say.” And it stuck in her craw.

  Mild-mannered Sal Bufano had been livid when he’d summoned her to his office that morning. He hadn’t actually raised his voice, but he’d come as close to losing his temper as she’d ever seen him. She knew Renn had gone to talk to him, and she’d been prepared to defend herself from his attack—basically, by pointing out the money she’d saved. What she hadn’t anticipated was Audrey Van Pelt’s visit just before Renn’s. If she had to guess, Faye would say Audrey had been the one who’d convinced Sal to exercise final approval of the selection for sports director.

  Had Marlee put Audrey up to it? Faye doubted it. Not directly, at least. But she’d obviously discussed the s
ituation with the older woman. Under other circumstances Faye could have used the breach in business confidentiality against her, but not now. Renn was right. She would just look more desperate, especially when the other person involved was Van Pelt’s widow.

  To complicate matters even more, Sal said he wanted a decision by the end of the week. That gave her three days to work things out.

  “I still don’t understand how you managed to lose control,” Taggart said. “You’re the vice president, for God’s sake. You’re supposed to be running the place. Even if Bufano does reserve veto power, the final choice will be based on your recommendation. So why don’t I have the job?”

  She was tempted to say she was doing her best, but it would sound like an excuse, one she wouldn’t accept if their roles were reversed.

  “Renn refuses to give up on Marlee.”

  “After everything she’s done? God!” He threw himself back against the down pillows and stared up at the ceiling.

  Her lips thinned. “Because as much as Marlee screws up, she also draws in the viewers. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the screwups were calculated.”

  “Are you sure they aren’t?”

  She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. “It’s a dangerous game, if they are. Marlee’s bold—” the way I used to be, Faye thought “—but she’s also naive and idealistic. She’d never do anything to make herself look bad.”

  Taggart snorted. “Let’s see. She breaks conference rules by barging into a room full of naked men with a camera—”

  “I wish you’d stop harping on that. It’s a no-winner. She handled the locker room situation well, apologized to Coach Dreyfus and the team and promised to respect their privacy in the future. Now they’re on her side.”

  “Yeah, after she’d already gotten a tape of guys in the buff for every woman at the station to ogle over.”

  “That really bothers you, doesn’t it?” She blew out a breath, suddenly amused. “Actually, there wasn’t that much to ogle.” She instantly regretted her comment.