Tyler opened the dressing room door. “Amber and Nichelle will take care of you. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to escort you to your station.”
My station. Wow! Was every workday going to start the same?
Katherine removed her jacket, handed it to Nichelle, then sat in the black stylist chair facing the mirror. From tiaras to crowns, she was accustomed to the spotlight, but she didn’t want to come across as a diva on her first day. Being a newscaster officially made her a local celebrity.
“Okay, Mz. Undercover Diva extraordinaire,” Nichelle said, “My best advice to you is to take advantage of your health benefits and get yourself a psychotherapist.”
“Excuse me,” Katherine retorted.
Amber chimed in. “Nichelle means no disrespect, girl.”
Girl?
Amber continued, “We know you’re all excited. Eager to be in front of the camera. And trust me, when we’re done with your hair and makeup, you’ll be ready for the red carpet. But by next week, after you’ve covered all the homicides, suicides, kidnappings, rapes, babies being abused, casualties, police shootings, gang shootings, drug wars, and how many soldiers are dying in the war each day, you won’t feel like a diva.”
“But you will look like one,” Nichelle repeated. “Get yourself a damn good therapist. Because even if it’s not your story to report, if you want to stay on top around here, you still have to know what’s happening. Now turn around and let me make you look even more fabulous.”
Katherine slid her fingers from her eyes, up an inch to her temples, then pressed hard. She closed her eyes, exhaled, then looked at them. “That’s better. I’ll be fine.”
Amber held the makeup brush in front of Katherine’s face. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“My crown was a little crooked. But I’ve straightened it. Thanks for the advice, ladies,” Katherine said, easing out of the chair.
Tyler stepped in. “You look fantastic!”
Katherine reached for her jacket. Tyler got to it first. “Let’s go,” he said, holding the door open. She followed Tyler to her station. He looked her up, down, then back up. “You’d better showcase that diva strut you had a few minutes ago. Look, the news is depressing enough, don’t make me put you on that list too.”
Stopping outside the door to the newsroom, Tyler said, “Katherine, you’re a fresh face, you’re young, you’re beautiful. Selma needs to see your face in the morning. Delivering the news is a job. Don’t take it personal and don’t take it home. You’ll be just fine.”
“Thanks, Tyler.”
He placed his pointing fingers at the corners of his mouth, curved his lips up. “If your energy drops, this’ll be my signal to you to pep up.”
Katherine entered the newsroom, sat at her station. The visual and audio technicians made sure her seating, posture, position, and voice were perfect. “Would you like me to get anything for you, Ms. Clinton?” Tyler asked in a more professional voice than when they were alone a moment ago.
Ms. Clinton sounded so formal and made her feel older than twenty-two. Wow. It hit her that she was the youngest reporter ever to have a prime morning spot. More important than her position was being in a position to financially support herself and her son. If the balance on her student loans weren’t so high, she could take care of her mother.
“No, thanks. I’m good for now, Tyler. And please, call me Katherine.”
Glad she’d skipped breakfast, Katherine felt her stomach cramp with the anticipation of going live on television. Katherine was proud of what she considered a major accomplishment. With the help of her mom petitioning their community, she’d gotten overwhelming support to be hired.
I’m actually living my dream. She screamed on the inside, Ahhh!
Coanchoring the seven o’clock morning news; today her crown was straight. She felt Amber and Nichelle’s advice was genuine, but it was too early to get comfortable with women she didn’t know.
Katherine was ecstatic that her mom and Jeremiah were in the green room cheering her on. In a few minutes, all of Selma might be watching her. Katherine held a mirror in front of her face, checked her hair and makeup one last time. She took a deep breath. Her fitted sleeveless blue dress was layered with a rich lavender jacket. The neckline scooped slightly above her collarbone. She wore the pea-sized pearl earrings her mom had given her for graduation.
If she delivered the news half as good as she looked, she’d do fine. Or if she screwed up maybe no one would complain because she looked good. All she had to do was read the teleprompter without appearing as though she was reading the teleprompter. Look into the camera and connect with her viewers. Maybe she could put a little Hollywood spin on her delivery by smiling, raising her brows, and touching her hair. A few signature moves would set her apart from the others.
Katherine twisted the gold band on her ring finger, thankful that her mom had finally accepted that her engagement to Lincoln was serious. She desperately wanted them to be a family, live together, raise their child together. Their baby was now three years, seven months and had never had a hug from his father.
She prayed wearing the ring would keep viewers from judging her. Calling into the station questioning how a single mom got the job. Then there were those true Christians she’d have to worry about. During her interview, she’d told the panel, “My fiancé is stationed overseas in the military,” but she never mentioned Lincoln by name.
The studio was cold. Her counterpart, who was a ten-year veteran in the business and twice her age, sat beside her. His charcoal gray suit complemented his blue shirt and lavender tie.
Katherine smiled at Warren Golf. “We’re coordinated. That’s a good thing, right?”
Glancing up from his notes, Warren said, “You look nice. Relax. You’ll do well.”
The cameraman said, “We’re going live in five, four, three, two,” then pointed at her.
Maybe she should’ve reviewed her notes instead of worrying about her appearance. Katherine looked directly into the camera as she read, “Today, America, we remember nine eleven. Three years ago the World Trade Center bombing sparked a renewed and continued search to capture Osama bin Laden.”
Katherine continued reading the teleprompter as footage of U.S. troops played for the viewers.
“American troops are on the ground in Afghanistan, and Operation Enduring Freedom is stronger than ever. More American troops are being deployed in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom to find the weapons of mass destruction.”
Fading out the troops, the camera focused back on her. “I’m Katherine Clinton, and we take you live to Ground Zero where we have Serena Henry with the story. Serena.”
In that moment, while Serena was in New York reporting, Katherine had the brightest idea of her one-day career. She no longer wanted to be anchored behind a desk delivering the news. Katherine wanted the flexibility to occasionally have assignments that would allow her to travel the country and cover major breaking stories like Serena. She’d get a few years of experience before pursuing her new dream.
Maybe during her travels, she’d gather enough information to find her man.
CHAPTER 11
Mona
May 2005
“You sure you want to go with me again tonight?”
“Ready when you are,” Mona said, slipping her firearm into her black purse. She hung her bag over her shoulder, tucked it under her arm.
To minimize the time sitting at home with Steven during the day watching the news—especially the morning news—she accepted a forty-hour-week schedule at the police department. And although he made more than enough money to let her quit her day job, her access to confidential data made his apprehensions easier.
“You know, we deserve a reality television show for what we do,” she said, watching Steven load his gun.
Working at the police station full-time during the day and going with Steven at night was exhilarating. Secretly, Mona hated watching Katherine on television. Katherin
e always seemed to have a bigger spotlight. Mona wasn’t stupid. She saw the way Steven stared, not at the news but at Katherine, the entire time she delivered the news.
“Baby, we should leave Selma and move to LA. Get our own show for real.” Just getting out of Selma would be good enough for Mona.
“Have you ever had to shoot anyone? Have you ever killed a man?” Mona asked, closing the wooden shutters on each window.
During the day, Mona worked linking criminals to crime scenes. She could get a job doing that in California. After dark, she helped protect Steven from criminals. And he could get a job bounty hunting in California. They were two country folks from Alabama that could make a huge Hollywood splash . . . bigger and more entertaining than The Beverly Hillbillies!
“No,” he said. “But tonight might be a first. Can you handle that?”
Mona had proudly become her husband’s sidekick, in and out of bed. The chance that she could get caught by the police helping her husband bring in fugitives gave her a rush. At times, his job excited her more than he did. She fumbled through her purse to make sure she had her flip video camera. Tonight she’d start capturing footage, save it for the right time to submit to the right person. Mona was determined to become famous.
Their reality show would top everything on TV, including the news. She wasn’t afraid to shoot in self-defense if she had to. Firing rounds at the range twice a week kept her skills intact. Plus, she had a badge and a CCW license to carry a concealed weapon wherever she traveled. Each time she accompanied Steven, he’d apprehend the person. She was there to slap on the handcuffs and back him up in case something went wrong.
He’d call the bail bonds agent, take the person to the local jailhouse near the station where she worked, then collect his money. Not that he had to, but he always cashed her out twenty percent of his earnings.
Steven kissed her, then said, “I think you should stay home tonight. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She couldn’t tape if she wasn’t there. “I’m going and that’s final. What if I don’t go and I could’ve kept you from getting hurt?”
“Mona, sit down for a moment,” he said, sitting on the sofa.
She sat beside him, remained quiet trying not to reveal her excitement.
Their two-bedroom house was modestly furnished. The home was suitable for a bachelor, and Steven hadn’t added much since she moved in. The living room had one recliner, the love seat didn’t match the area rug, and the rug didn’t match the recliner. He hadn’t bothered to repaint the white shutters or replace the wooden wall panels with Sheetrock. He’d bought the large sofa so she’d have someplace to sit or lie when they watched television together.
Mona waited for Steven to speak. Maybe he was going to say, “I shouldn’t have married you.” It was too late for an annulment. Didn’t matter. Long as he bought her out, Mona was prepared to move on.
“Tonight is different. Things might get dangerous,” he warned her.
“That’s more of a reason for me to be there,” she said, looking at everything except him.
Their bedroom had a queen-sized bed, two dressers, one nightstand. He’d bought the second dresser for her clothes. The kitchen had a table with two chairs. One of the cabinets was filled top to bottom with bottles of his favorite whiskey.
Before moving into his house, she had no idea he drank all the time. Ruining his liver was his mistake, not hers. If he took ill, she’d put him in rehab. He wouldn’t become her burden. No man would.
Steven held her face, made her look at him. “We went to high school with this guy. You know him.”
Great. That would help boost ratings. Mona knew that look on Steven’s face. He stared straight through her. He was up to something, but she had her own hidden agenda.
“Don’t tell me who it is. I’m going with you. That’s final.”
“Fine. Since you insist, here’s what you have to do,” he said, scooting to the edge of the sofa.
He made an unusual request—that everything they wore had to be destroyed immediately afterward. Tonight’s fugitive was also a neighbor.
“No matter what happens, stay behind me,” he demanded, then said, “Let’s go.” The drive was only a few blocks down the road.
When they arrived, Steven walked three feet ahead of her, making it easy for her to record. He stood in front of her, then banged on Calvin’s door. Calvin opened the door.
“You know why I’m here. Don’t make this complicated,” Steven said.
Calvin shoved Steven. Steven stumbled backward; Mona pushed him forward into the living room. Zoomed in. Calvin ran toward the back of his house, and Steven was right behind him.
Mona held her camera in one hand, drew her gun with the other, followed them into the bedroom. Calvin opened a drawer, reached for his gun. Before he turned around, bam! Steven punched Calvin in the back of the head so hard, Calvin hit his temple on the sharp edge of the dresser. Steven pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, put them on, then placed Calvin’s gun in Calvin’s hand. He bent Calvin’s elbow, positioned the barrel at Calvin’s temple, then pulled the trigger.
Steven checked for a pulse, then said, “He’s dead.”
The only thing Mona knew for sure that night was her marriage to Steven was her biggest mistake. Quickly she turned off the video camera and dropped it into her purse.
What had she gotten herself into? Even if she turned in the footage, how could she prove she was innocent?
CHAPTER 12
Steven
May 2005
“Ma, Pa—Mona and I are headed West,” Steven said, entering his parents’ home. He sat a yellow gift bag on the coffee table. “It’s that time. I’ve got to show up for that lucrative job I told you about working for the oil company in California.” He told the truth about the lucrative job, then lied about working for the oil company.
“What happened to you? You cut yourself,” his mother said, reaching for his hand.
“I’m fine, Ma. It’s not that bad.”
His dad chimed in, “Leave him alone, Regina. He’s not a kid anymore.”
Steven didn’t know his own strength. He’d split the skin on his knuckle when he bashed Calvin in the back of his head. It was time to leave Selma.
The suitcases he’d packed—one for Mona, the other for him—were in the back of his black Chevy SUV parked outside in his parents’ driveway. Mona’s red convertible was locked in the garage at his house. The clothes he should’ve destroyed were in a garbage bag in the trunk of her car.
“Buttercup, that’s too far away. You waited until you’re leaving to tell us,” his mother said, then asked, “Why? How much are they paying you?” His mother picked up the gift bag, peeped inside.
Relocating was Mona’s idea. He had no objections but refused to reside in Los Angeles. “Ma, I told you and Dad that we were moving to Bakersfield a week ago because I knew you guys would try and talk me into staying. My mind is made up.” He’d told the truth. “They offered me six figures.” Then lied again.
Truth was he was about to make a fast 1.5 million. He had two more hit jobs—Macon and Kansas City—and since Mona had insisted on going to Calvin’s, she might as well go with him on the road. He was in no hurry to get to California. Settling in Bakersfield would take getting used to for both of them.
“Where’s Mona?” his mom asked.
“I’m on my way to get her.”
Staying in the same town where they’d washed their hands with blood wasn’t wise. He’d spoken with a few bail bonds business owners and had lined up some legitimate bounty-hunting work in Bakersfield.
After Calvin’s murder, Mona turned in her resignation. Today was her last day on the job. She’d applied for a job as a California correctional officer and as a forensic specialist at a toxicology laboratory in Bakersfield. Mona insisted on working but said she didn’t want to work for another police department.
“I love you, Ma, Pa,” he said, kissing his dad first. “I’
ll call you soon as we get there. The pink-wrapped box is for you, Ma. Don’t open the other one.”
“Well, who’s the other one for, Buttercup?”
“Katherine Clinton. It’s a gift. I like how she delivers the news. Make sure she gets it, please.” He hoped she didn’t think the diamond princess-cut earrings were too much.
“I always thought you should’ve dated her,” his dad said.
Me too, Steven thought. But he didn’t. “I’ll call you guys when I get to California.”
Steven didn’t want his cell phone to register at any of the towers while he was in transit to handle his business, so he’d powered it off. Mona could use her phone whenever she wanted.
“Is Mona going to come say bye to us?” his mother asked, still hugging his neck.
“No, Ma,” he said. “I’m headed to pick her up and then we’ve got to get on the road.”
His parents followed him outside. His dad yelled from the porch, “Don’t forget to call us, son! We love you.”
“If you need any money, baby, call me,” his mother said.
“Love you guys too,” Steven said, waving from the driver’s window.
En route to pick up Mona, Steven called her. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Did you remember to pack my troll doll?”
“Of course. You called your mom?”
“See you when you get here,” she said, ending the call.
He’d packed all the things Mona requested, including her troll doll. Mona had her registered gun in her purse. Being so close to his parents, he felt bad that Mona hadn’t spoken to her mother in over a year. When Mona and her mom held a grudge, they were two of the most unforgiving persons he knew.
En route to pick up Mona, Steven wondered whatever happened to that loser William Lincoln.
CHAPTER 13
Lincoln
May 2006
Whatever happened to voluntarily reenlisting?
Two years ago, Lincoln demanded his release. If he hadn’t returned they would’ve considered him AWOL. Absent without leave was an offense that could’ve gotten him arrested. Wasn’t his government supposed to be a democracy and not a dictatorship? Hadn’t he fulfilled his commitment? Lincoln still wanted out of the hellhole madness!
The Eternal Engagement Page 5