by Wendy Wax
Olivia whirled around to face him. “What did you do, pay someone at the station to reposition the Webcam so you could lure me into a compromising position?”
“Lure you? Do you hear what you’re saying, Olivia? Do you think I had any way of knowing what was coming?” He shook his head and spoke calmly, which just incensed her further. “I don’t think you knew what you were going to do before you did it! When did I have the chance to warn the mystery cameraman? Calm down and let’s think this through.”
“We are not thinking anything, Matt. There is no we here.”
Then she tuned him out, completely. Like she should have done the day the door clicked shut behind them.
Charles Crankower danced a little jig in the empty WTLK control room. The Webcam had been disconnected, but it couldn’t have mattered less. He had exactly what he needed, exactly what he’d wanted but hadn’t dared hope for.
Jubilant, he picked up his cell phone and started placing calls. The last number he dialed was the Operation Manager’s home number. T.J. Lawrence picked up on the second ring.
“Crankower, do you have any idea what time it is?”
Charles smiled to himself. “I do, boss. It’s 3:30 A.M, and our ship has come in.”
“Crankower, if this is some kind of prank . . .”
“No, T.J., it’s nothing like that. It’s the remote. There’s been an unexpected development.”
He heard T.J.’s tone turn serious. “Are Matt and Olivia okay?”
“Oh, they’re fine, though I suspect they may be duking it out in earnest right now.”
In a rush he told the OM exactly what had happened, careful to make it sound like the camera movement had been unintentional, just a changing of the audience view to keep things visually interesting. T.J. had always had a soft spot for Olivia, and Charles doubted T.J. would want to know to what lengths he’d gone to set her up.
“Jeez,” T.J. said. “I can’t believe this.”
“Yeah, me either,” said Charles, when what he really wanted to say was, I can’t believe my good fortune. “You’d better come down here and see the video, T.J., so you’ll be prepared for the press when we go over to release Olivia and Matt from the apartment.”
“The press already knows?”
“Yeah, somebody must have been monitoring the website,” Charles lied, glad he’d had the foresight to call his contacts from his cell phone before T.J. could forbid it.
“All right, but just how explicit is this video, Crankower? Are we going to be running into trouble over that?”
“No. I’ll call Legal if you want me to, but I don’t think it’s going to be an issue. There’s no actual exposure even though it’s pretty clear what’s happening.”
Charles heard the rustling of sheets and pictured T.J. trying to slip out of bed without disturbing his wife. “Olivia must be totally freaked out,” said T.J. “Call Diane and Ben in to the station, will you? I’ll call the apartment from my car.”
“Okay, boss. I’ve already called the security company to send some people to meet us at the apartment. One thing we can stop worrying about is getting coverage for the end of the promotion. If I’m not mistaken, it’s going to be a mob scene.”
27
T.J., Crankower, and two burly security guards met Olivia and Matt in the apartment at 8:00 A.M. on Monday morning. T.J. brought the morning paper with its grainy reprint of the Webcam freeze-frame under the headline “Sexy Shrink Succumbs to Guy Talk,” and clucked around them nervously trying to prepare everyone for the insanity waiting outside the building.
In contrast, Charles practically floated above the floor in what looked like ecstatic anticipation, while one of the guards gave Olivia an obvious once-over and the other sent Matt a man-to-man wink that made Matt want to deck them both.
Walking out the front door of the apartment held none of the satisfaction he’d anticipated, and a glance at Olivia’s face as they walked down the long carpeted hallway to the elevator told him she was too caught up in her own misery to appreciate their newfound freedom.
They stopped in the lobby for a last pep talk from T.J., which amounted to encouraging Olivia to ignore the seamier questions and begging Matt not to hurt anyone. “Let’s just focus on our listeners’ contributions to the food bank and try to steer clear of the rest, shall we?”
They all nodded as though this might be possible, then T.J., Charles, and the security duo pushed through the doors and were swallowed by the clamoring crowd.
Matt wanted to offer aid, but Olivia had shrugged off every attempt to discuss the situation since the phone call from T.J. at 3:30 that morning. Shortly afterward, she’d gone to her room, where he’d heard her pacing and muttering until 6 A.M., when she’d slipped into the bathroom to shower and dress.
Now they stood side by side waiting to go out and face the media, and the expression on her face made him want to offer her . . . what?
“You know, no one actually saw anything, Olivia. For all they know I was feeling faint and you were giving me mouth-to-mouth.”
“Right.” Her voice was bitter. “And I ripped your shirt open so you could breathe better.”
“Look, Olivia, we’re both single, consenting adults. What happened is a little embarrassing, but the Clinton presidency survived worse.”
“I’ve got a news flash for you, Matt. This may be just one more amusing peccadillo to your listeners—they expect this sort of behavior from you. But I’m a therapist. My listeners need to be able to respect and trust me. This is not okay.”
“I’m sorry, Liv. If you want to deny everything, I’ll back you up.”
“I don’t need you to back me up. And I don’t need you to lie for me. In fact, I don’t want anything from you.”
Olivia turned away from him and pushed through the front door. Matt followed closely behind.
He had less than a second to register the beauty of the day before the shouting started.
“Are the two of you involved?”
“What was going on in there at night?”
“Which one of you pulled the plug on the Webcam?”
“How was she, Matt?”
Matt felt Olivia tense beside him, and he couldn’t blame her; the crush of reporters resembled nothing so much as a pack of baying dogs. They kept barking their questions, even though they remained unanswered, and all of their questions centered on identifying what they’d caught a glimpse of before the cord was pulled.
Charles stepped forward and raised a hand for silence. A sea of video cameras pointed his way, and microphones were thrust up in the air. Back behind the crowd, two reporters did their stand-ups for a live report.
Matt was surprised by the presence of the wire services and cable news networks. It must have been a slow news day, or perhaps the story of a therapist giving in to her baser instincts was an even bigger story than he’d imagined. Or maybe someone had tipped them off.
When the crowd fell silent, Charles dispensed the good news—an unprecedented amount raised for the Third Harvest Food Bank, audience participation at an all-time high. But as he spoke, all eyes stayed on Matt and Olivia, and those eyes were full of speculation as each reporter tried to imagine what had taken place in the locked apartment.
Beside him, Olivia began to tremble. Instinctively, he stepped closer to lend his body as support. He wanted to put an arm around her shoulder and drag her away from the mob, or at least speak up in their defense, but every glib response that sprang to his mind died on his lips because he couldn’t come up with one that wouldn’t damage Olivia in some way. His concern for her overrode his normal instincts for self-preservation so completely that he hardly recognized himself.
Charles finished his lengthy recap of the promotion’s success and stepped back next to T.J. Shouts rang out again, and the mob surged closer. The limo waiting at the curb might as well have been miles rather than yards away, since they’d have to push through the assembled reporters to reach it.
Olivia ste
pped forward, and Matt watched her square her shoulders and clear her throat. He braced himself for whatever was to come.
“There is no way to satisfactorily explain what went on in this apartment, and I’m not going to try.” There were groans of protest and more shouted questions, but Olivia stood firm. “I’ll just say that I’m glad the week produced such great results for the food bank, I’m thrilled our listeners responded in such a generous way.” She flashed a wry smile. “And being locked up for a week with Matt Ransom is enough to drive any woman to desperation.”
She turned to him, the tenseness of her body belying the smile on her face and the casual tone of her words. Then she waited, without a word, for him to cut her off at the knees.
Matt felt a swift burst of pride at her bravery. Because he wanted to, and because he knew she wouldn’t flinch away from him in front of an audience, he stepped up and slung one arm across her shoulders. Then he gave her an exaggerated wink. She tensed but managed to stay put, her smile firmly in place as he said, “Well, if you can cop an insanity plea, I guess I can, too.” He turned his gaze to the waiting reporters, taking in their sharp-faced curiosity. “All I have to say is . . . ditto.”
Dissatisfied, the mob screamed for more. A young reporter with gelled hair and a feral grin pushed to the front. Matt recognized him as a stringer for Atlanta Leisure magazine. “Is it true you two had a relationship eight years ago in Chicago?” he asked.
Olivia whirled around to face Matt.
Without waiting for a response, the reporter flung out another question. “Did you really bet your staff you’d have Dr. Moore flat on her back before the week was out?”
Matt watched the outrage suffuse Olivia’s face. He lowered his voice and said, “It’s not the way it sounds, Olivia.”
The outrage turned to disgust. For a long moment she stared at him as if he were a form of plankton, and then she shook off his arm and plunged forward down the apartment steps.
Like offensive guards protecting their quarterback, the burly duo sprang into action. One of them caught up with Olivia while the other fell in at Matt’s side. Together, they cleared a path through the crowd to the getaway car. Matt could hear the whir of camera motor drives and frantic footsteps following them down the sidewalk, while the same questions echoed in the morning air.
Matt slid onto the bench seat after Olivia. Crankower and T.J. dove into the facing seat, the door slammed behind them, and the car pulled away from the curb.
For the life of him, Matt couldn’t think of a thing to say. Unable to argue his innocence and unwilling to dissect his original intentions in front of Charles and T.J., he remained silent as the driver worked his way through morning traffic. Olivia kept her back to him, staring intently out her window at the rapidly disappearing park across the way. Turning to look out his own window, Matt watched the apartment building grow small and fall out of sight and wondered who’d been feeding the Atlanta Leisure reporter inside information.
Charles broke the silence. “Did you see the feature reporters from Fox and NBC? The networks are going to be lined up begging for interviews. Maybe we should start with Good Morning America.”
Matt and Olivia continued to stare out their respective windows. Olivia held her body away from his, and when they rounded a curve she was careful not to allow herself to touch him. He could feel the hurt and anger rolling off her in waves.
“All right. I guess a nice, friendly ‘No comment’ could be considered appropriate in a situation like this,” T.J. said.
Olivia continued to stare out her window, ignoring all of them.
“Er, whatever the situation is,” T.J. amended.
T.J. and Charles waited expectantly, but Matt and Olivia remained silent. “Okay, then,” T.J. continued. “If you don’t feel like sharing yet, I guess we need to formulate a strategy to deal with the fallout. We won’t do Liv Live or Guy Talk today. We’ll let the audience simmer down first. They’ll tune in in droves tomorrow.”
He turned to the promotions man beside him. “Charles, get Diane and Ben on the phone and tell them to pull ‘best of’ programs to air today. We’ll drop Olivia and Matt off at their homes, let them get some rest, and we’ll all meet back at the station this afternoon.”
The limo turned into Olivia’s neighborhood and took a left onto her street. They sat, with the engine idling outside of Olivia’s house. Only T.J. had anything to say. “In light of the, um, rather spectacular ending of the promotion, I’ve asked the consultant to conduct a final focus group and an additional call-out to gauge audience reaction. I’ll have his report and Detroit’s reaction by the time we meet.”
The first person Olivia ran into at the station was Matt. Refusing to greet him, she stood and waited for the elevator in silence. They rode up with three co-workers who could barely contain their curiosity. The two men slapped Matt heartily on the back, and she suspected if she hadn’t been present they would have congratulated him as well. The woman in the car just looked on pityingly, before averting her gaze. It was chillingly reminiscent of the kind of reaction she’d gotten when word of James’s cheating had gotten around, and too much like the glances she’d given her own mother when she’d played the doormat for Olivia’s father.
She and Matt traversed the endless hallway to T.J.’s office under continued scrutiny. Conversations died and movement ceased as each person they passed took time out from gossiping to study the objects of their speculation.
Was it her imagination, or did Matt seem to walk taller with each step as she shrank ever lower in embarrassment? She fanned the flames of her anger and told herself it didn’t matter. Already she was trying to formulate the words she would say during tomorrow’s show to square things with her audience. Assuming she still had one when this meeting was over.
Outside T.J.’s office, Matt took her arm and pulled her around to face him. Onlookers fell silent as they strained to listen.
“I didn’t set you up, Olivia. I was just as surprised as you were when I looked up and saw that we were on camera.”
Olivia jerked her arm out of Matt’s grasp. “Right. Well then, that solves everything, doesn’t it? And your whole campaign to help me relax had no motive other than improving my quality of life? Come on, Matt. This is me, Olivia, remember?”
“Oh, I remember all right. Maybe better than you do. And I’ll admit that I did think throwing you a bit off balance might be helpful. But that was only at first, before . . .”
Olivia’s thoughts turned back to the meals he’d cooked for her, the soap operas he’d introduced her to, the spirit of fun he’d brought to their captivity—all of it a calculated effort to put him in the winner’s circle.
“Before you decided to get me—how did that reporter put it—flat on my back?”
“Olivia, I didn’t—”
“And I suppose it wasn’t you who told everybody about Chicago? Did you tell them how you had me flat on my back there, too, until you decided you were finished with me?”
“Olivia, believe me, I didn’t—”
“I’d have to be a fool to believe anything you said to me now. And all appearances to the contrary, I’m not a fool.” She turned her back on him and stormed into T.J.’s office.
T.J., Charles, Ben, and Diane were already waiting. Olivia sat next to her producer, while Matt took a seat next to Ben, the battle lines clearly drawn. No one spoke as T.J. flipped through the folder on his lap. “So,” he inquired casually, “did either of you rest?”
“It’s kind of hard to do that with the press camped out on your lawn,” Matt drawled. “And then I made the mistake of checking my voice mail.” He turned to Olivia. “I heard from People and Soap Opera Digest and a couple of sleazy tabloids I’ve never even heard of. And they all want us to come clean and tell all.”
Olivia’s gaze dripped scorn as it met his.
“Don’t worry, I’m only a little tempted,” Matt dead-panned.
“Yes, well, I don’t think we need anyone tellin
g all at this point,” T.J. interrupted. “I thought you both did a good job of not telling all this morning. Why don’t we just let everybody keep wondering until Charles works out a promotional plan.”
Olivia tried to imagine her listeners putting up with that. Her heart sank every time she thought about her audience’s reaction to the whole ugly mess.
The intense media scrutiny just made it worse. Even if their numbers ended up statistically too close to call, Olivia knew she’d become a liability. She was a dispenser of advice who couldn’t control her own actions, a radio therapist who didn’t know how to deal with men.
Diane and Ben fidgeted in their seats, and Olivia envied their energy. She felt too tired and heavy to move, though her brain continued to function at warp speed. Matt looked calm and unconcerned, though she knew him well enough now to know it was just a pose. Crankower appeared even more starched than usual.
T.J. closed the folder and began. “Bottom line,” he said, “this promotion has been a huge success.”
Charles preened like a peacock. He stood and took a brief bow before T.J. continued. “Matt and Olivia are already getting national attention. Plus, we know the numbers are going to be great, which means new advertisers will be tripping over themselves to sign on the dotted line.”
Olivia leaned forward in her chair. “But what about the research? There’s no way my listeners are okay with what happened between . . . well, what happened.”
“No, they’re not. Your credibility has suffered, and your core audience is furious,” T.J. said. “They haven’t tuned out, yet, but they feel betrayed and angry. Sixty percent of your P1’s don’t approve of your behavior.”
Olivia clenched her fists. She was dying to stand and pace. “And you consider this a success?”
“Yes.” T.J.’s smile was blinding. “You’ve more than offset any potential loss with new listeners. You picked up P1’s who already consider WTLK their station of preference but hadn’t listened to you before, and 95 percent of P2’s responded favorably to Liv Live. It won’t take much to turn them into a P1 audience.”