by K. N. Casper
“Maybe open a consultation service. I haven’t decided.”
“Will you stay in the area?”
He shrugged. “Coyote Springs is a nice town, but it’s off the beaten track. I’m not sure how successful a media-focused business can do here. Still, with computers and e-mail, one place is almost as good as another these days.”
She left him at the threshold.
Maxine hung up the phone and eyed him, her mouth slightly open. He extended a hand and said goodbye. She mumbled something and watched him leave. He chuckled on his way downstairs. What were the odds everyone would know he’d just resigned before he even reached the bottom step?
At the foot of the stairs he was greeted by the usual mechanical sounds, but all human voices were stilled and everyone on the news floor was staring at him. He crooked an amused smile and proceeded to his office.
Trish was standing at her desk, her eyes moist. “Is it true? Did you really quit?”
He acknowledged that he had and thanked her for the work she’d done for him.
He was removing pictures and plaques from the wall behind his desk, when Mickey Grimes came into his office.
“I’m sorry Marlee didn’t get the sports anchor job,” he said. “She deserved it. And I’m glad she got another, better offer.”
“How did you know about that?” Renn asked.
Mickey rubbed his jaw. “They wouldn’t have flown her there on such short notice if they hadn’t been seriously interested. And once they met her, of course they’d want her.”
Renn cocked an eyebrow inquiringly.
“Okay,” Mickey confessed, with a good-natured chuckle, “a friend of mine works there. I called him a little while ago.”
Renn shook his head, but he couldn’t help smiling, too.
“Why are you leaving, Renn?”
“It’s time for me to move on.”
“You’ve been here less than a year. Are you going to Philly with her?”
Follow her. Should he? She had no reason to want him around, not after the way he’d led her on, then let her down.
“No.” He started clearing out his desk of personal effects.
“I wish you’d stay. We really need you around here.”
The sentiment was nice to hear, even if it wasn’t true. He’d failed, and that inadequacy would forever hang over his head, no matter where he was.
“For what it’s worth, I’ve recommended you as my replacement,” he said. “You can probably expect to be moved into the job at least temporarily.” He almost advised the newsman not to let the situation drag on the way he’d let it with Marlee, but Mickey was smart enough not to make the same mistake. “It might be a good idea to get yourself an agent to handle the details.”
Mickey nodded. “I will. Does Marlee know?”
“I haven’t told her yet, but given the grapevine around here, I’ll be surprised if she hasn’t already gotten the word.”
He was on his way out when Taggart came in the front door. The two men studied each other, then the sports analyst smiled and strolled nonchalantly past him. He’d be getting the sports director job now. Renn did an abrupt about-face.
Taggart sat at his desk, feet up, reading a sports magazine. He raised his head when Renn walked in. “Heard you’re leaving. Good luck.” The words were dismissive.
Renn closed the door. Taggart gave him a critical eye, his expression conveying as much apprehension as curiosity.
Renn lifted the guest chair, turned it around, straddled it in front of the desk and rested his arms across the back.
“You know, Taggart, you’re a damn fool.”
“Get out of here, Davis.” Taggart flipped a page of his magazine. “I don’t have time to listen to your sour grapes.”
Renn laughed. “Always full of bluster, aren’t you? I’ll be on my way in a minute, but first I have a few things to say.”
Taggart slapped the magazine closed, tossed it on the pile with others and dropped his feet to the floor. “Go ahead. Unburden yourself if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Congratulations on getting the sports director job.”
“I would have gotten it a long time ago if it hadn’t been for you.”
Forever blaming someone else, Renn mused, unsurprised. “The sad part is that you’re going to fall flat on your face.”
“You wish.” Taggart snorted disdainfully.
“I have to hand it to you. Your syndication idea is a good one. Might work, for anyone but you.” Taggart clucked impatiently. “You have no idea what you’re up against, do you? You haven’t got a clue what it takes to run a sports department, much less motivate people to do what you want them to do because they want to do it.” Renn laughed. “Your old friends on the Dallas Cowboys won’t be any help. All those coaches and players from coast to coast you claim to know aren’t going to do you any good, either. If you weren’t so damn vain and lazy, you would have taken Marlee’s offer and spent the past three months learning everything you could from her. She knows more about the internal workings of this organization than you’ll ever pick up by osmosis.”
Taggart sighed. “You finished?”
“Almost. I’ll tell you why your numbers are crashing. People are tired of feeling sorry for you.”
Taggart sat bolt upright and slammed his hands flat on the top of his desk. “I don’t have to listen to this bull. Get the hell out of here, Davis.”
Renn ignored him. “They tolerated you when Clark was around. Now all they see is a pretty-boy has-been who might have had potential once, if he hadn’t been injured. But sympathy doesn’t last forever. At some point people expect you to produce the goods, and you haven’t.”
Taggart bounced up from his chair and pointed to the door. “I said, get out.”
Renn didn’t move except to meet the other man’s glare. “Close your mouth and open your ears for a change, Taggart. And sit down.”
Taggart paused, stared openmouthed and plopped back down into his seat.
“The truth is, you’ve blown the best opportunity you ever had. Marlee is a damn good reporter. That’s why Philly is grabbing her. She has skills and talents you don’t have, the interview with Hillman being a case in point. If you’d had any sense, you would have teamed up with her instead of pushing her out the door.”
Renn climbed to his feet but didn’t bother to return the chair. “You’re a loser, Taggart. You better find someone fast to carry you, because you’ll never make it on your own.”
WHEN HIS HANDS stopped shaking—Renn was lucky he hadn’t punched his lights out—Taggart popped the top on a can of cola from the private stock he kept in the little refrigerator in the corner. Leaning back in his chair, he again propped his feet on the desk. He was glad Davis was leaving. The man was a royal pain in the ass. That crap about people feeling sorry for him was just a load of bull. So his numbers had slipped a little lately. That was only because Marlee had sweet-talked Prentice into destroying his interview with Bill Parcells. The public was blaming him for not coming through, but it wasn’t his fault. The bitch was just jealous because the best she could land was a second-rate high school coach, while he got the big boys.
He steepled his hands and touched the tips of his fingers to his lips. Still, Renn might have a point. Instead of kicking Marlee’s pretty little butt out the door, maybe he ought to grab it. He smiled to himself. She could be very useful during the transition, and keeping her onboard would show what a generous guy he was. After all, no use breaking in someone new when experience was there for the taking. She knew the technical stuff, and she had the staff eating out of her hands. Why not offer her a partnership? No need to tell her it was only temporary—until he got established.
He’d have to talk Faye into giving her more money than she was making before—enough to match whatever Philly was offering—but the old girl wanted him between her legs bad. She’d do whatever he said and find a way to stretch the budget.
Taggart and Reid. Hmm. Had a ni
ce ring to it. She didn’t know as much about sports as he did, naturally, but she did have a pretty face and a sweet body. A lot younger than Faye, too. Yeah, he wouldn’t mind working closely with Marlee Reid at all.
He checked his watch. She wasn’t due in for another hour. He’d give her time to get over the shock of her boyfriend’s abandonment, then he’d approach her. She’d jump at the opportunity to work with him, especially since it would let her show Renn she didn’t need him. Taggart adjusted his pants, which had suddenly grown tight. She’d find out what a real man was like.
TWO HOURS BEFORE she was due at the station, Marlee received the call at home from Trish that Renn had quit. She was stunned. Surely his secretary was mistaken. Maybe he only threatened to resign or offered to leave. Even that seemed unreal. He loved his work too much to throw it all away.
She sat in her living room, expecting the phone to ring, waiting for him to explain what he had done and tell her his plans. Twenty minutes went by. An hour. He wasn’t going to call. She wasn’t important enough to him to let her in on what was going on in his life.
She changed into the kelly-green blouse and tan linen pants suit she’d bought at a shop around the corner from her hotel in Philadelphia. After adding her favorite gold necklace and matching earrings, she stood in front of the mirror. Her hair was long, the way Renn liked it. She’d planned to get it cut but hadn’t had time before flying east for her interview. She’d check her schedule at the station and call for an appointment, if not for this afternoon, then for tomorrow and revert back to the shorter style she used to wear. It was easier to care for. Or maybe she wouldn’t. She’d received a lot of compliments on her longer hair, here and in Philly.
“He went directly to her office, stormed right in and dropped his resignation on her desk,” Maxine confided, as soon as Marlee entered the newsroom. “He closed the door. When he opened it again, Faye wished him good luck like they were old friends, then she returned to her desk.”
Trish poured herself a cup of stale coffee. “Did they fight?”
“It wasn’t a screaming and shouting match, I can tell you that.” Maxine beckoned Trish and Marlee closer. “I tried to listen at the door, but they were talking too low for me to hear. After he left, all Faye said was that she didn’t want to be disturbed and closed the door again. Made a couple of phone calls, I know that.”
“Probably to her toy boy…and Bufano,” Trish commented.
“That’s what I figure.”
Trish turned to Marlee. “Did Renn tell you what happened?”
She looked up at the clock. “I better get going. I’m on the air at five. See you later.”
Marlee checked her office area to see if she had any messages. She didn’t.
Wayne poked his nose in. “Some decent coverage on Wimbledon. Quite an upset. Probably good for ninety seconds.”
“Thanks.”
“You all right?”
Her head shot up. She hadn’t realized she’d been downcast. “Did you edit that footage on the TUCS baseball game last night?”
He nodded. “A couple of tight squeeze plays. Tapes are in booth three. Let me know if you want to use either of them.”
She wandered down to the editing booth and reviewed his work—he’d done a good job, as usual. She’d just put her finger on the red button to begin her voice-over commentary, when Taggart came in.
“Can I help you?” she asked without paying him much attention. Wayne passed by outside, did a wide-eyed double take and continued on down the hall.
“We need to talk,” Taggart said.
She bookmarked the tape, noting the numbers on the digital readout. Cutting it to forty seconds would give her time to show a clip of Wimbledon.
“About what?”
“Us.”
She froze the image on the screen and faced the man standing just inside the doorway. “I beg your pardon?”
“You know Davis has left, quit.”
Marlee saw Faye Warren walk by and wondered if she was looking for Taggart. Since he had his back to the door, he didn’t see her, but she saw him and kept going.
“That means,” Taggart went on, “I’m getting the sports director and anchor job.”
“Probably.”
“Not probably. Definitely.”
“I didn’t realize a formal announcement had been made yet. Congratulations.”
“My promotion’s a great opportunity for you, too, babe.”
She pulled back and studied him. He was serious. As much as she’d like to tell him to go to hell, curiosity got the better of her. “Really? What kind of opportunity might that be?”
He closed the soundproof door behind him, moved deeper into the tiny room and leaned against a work-table stacked with video tapes. “To team up. You have reporting and technical skills. I have connections and a personal following. Between us we can become the Regis and Kelly of sports. We’ll go national, syndicated.”
Marlee couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was this guy for real? In spite of everything that had transpired over the past months, he actually thought she’d leap at the chance to team up with him. Three months ago, when she was dull-witted by the pain of Clark’s death, before the atmosphere had become so vicious, she might have considered the proposal. But now?
He chuckled. “I’ve got big ideas, kid. You have great sex appeal and so do I. Between us we’re a winning combination. You handle women’s sports and the female perspective, and I’ll deal with the rest of it. Yeah—” he ran a finger down the side of her arm “—and it doesn’t have to stop at the studio door. I can teach you things, sweetheart, that have nothing to do with the small screen. Things that’ll make going home from work every day a new adventure.”
FAYE WARREN STOOD inside the doorway of the neighboring booth. She’d been baffled, when she’d come downstairs looking for Taggart, to have Wayne Prentice put his finger to his lips and wave her into the tiny cubicle.
“There’s something you might want to hear,” he said.
She stared at him, then stood in silence as he upped the volume on the control panel to his right.
“Marlee…Ms. Reid turned off the recorder when Mr. Taggart interrupted her dubbing session,” the photographer explained, “but she must have forgotten to turn off the mike. I was monitoring her session to make a backup tape. I wanted to make sure—”
Faye motioned him to silence, reached behind him and pressed a Record button. Taggart’s voice was coming in loud and clear.
“We can have a good time together, you and me,” he said. “You’re pretty good at what you do, just inexperienced. I’m good at what I do, too, and I have plans. You want to go on to a bigger market? Believe me, after a couple of years together, the networks will be fighting over us.”
“What about Faye Warren?” Marlee asked.
“Don’t worry about her.” He chuckled. “She’s good in the sack. At her age she’s grateful, and that makes up for a lot.” He chuckled. “I bet you’re better.”
Faye squeezed her eyes shut as his words burned through her. She opened them a moment later when Taggart laughed.
“Forget Faye,” he crooned. “She’s in no position to complain. She won’t be happy about me abandoning her bed, but she won’t jeopardize her precious career and professional reputation by making a public stink about me skipping out on her. Under the steel girdle, she’s really a prude. So what do you say?” he asked expectantly.
Silence lingered so long Faye was about to ask Prentice if the equipment was still working. Then she heard Marlee’s voice.
“Here’s what I say, Mr. Taggart. I’d rather deliver newspapers on a bicycle for the rest of my life than work with you. As for sleeping with you, I’ll become a bag lady and live in a Dumpster on the waterfront first.”
Faye shuddered out a pent-up breath. Tears threatened, but she held them back by sheer force of will.
“Get out of here, Taggart,” Marlee concluded, with more annoyance than anger. “I have
work to do.”
Faye turned to see Prentice staring at her. She yanked the cassette from the recorder and held it tightly in her hand.
“Is this feed going to any other bay?” she demanded.
“No, ma’am.”
She was tempted to ask him to keep his mouth shut, but the request would just make her look desperate. This guy had already betrayed his friend, Marlee. He had no allegiance to her. Besides, things had gone far beyond worrying about her moral reputation.
Bracing herself, she veered around the photographer, opened the door and turned left. She arrived at the neighboring booth just as Taggart was stepping out, his head up, apparently unfazed by Marlee’s rejection. He stopped short, color draining from his expensively tanned face.
“F-Faye,” he stammered. “What are you doing here?”
“I have it on tape.” She held up the small cassette. “You’re fired. You have twenty minutes to clear out your desk. If you’re not gone in that time, I’ll call security. And if you ever show up here again, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”
“I have a contract,” he insisted.
“Not in writing you don’t. But even if you did, sexual harassment is a serious offense and cause for immediate termination, which I’m exercising.”
FAYE HAD ALWAYS prided herself on being able to disguise her emotions in public. Her apparent aloofness was one of the qualities that had helped her climb the executive ladder. Exercising control had never been more difficult, however, than during the thirty seconds it took her to walk from the editing booth to the stairwell. She’d purposely raised her voice for everyone to hear her fire Taggart. Now every eye in the newsroom was trained on her. She wasn’t one to blush, thank goodness, but the humiliation she felt had her stomach searing.
Maxine started to ask her something when she entered the VP suite, but it died on her lips. She watched her boss stride into her office and slam the door.
Faye sank heavily into the chair. Her legs trembled uncontrollably. Her breathing hitched. For the first time in twenty years, tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks.