Not at Eight, Darling

by Sherryl Woods

  “Okay, forget that. I don’t suppose it really matters who delivers the memos around here,” she conceded grudgingly. “The point is that I cannot do an adult situation comedy if you persist in tearing the guts out of the show.”

  For five minutes, as Michael calmly watched without a single change of expression, she paced around the office and argued passionately in defense of the scene he’d ordered cut. When she’d finally wound down, he said succinctly, “The scene goes.”

  Stunned by the finality of the comment, Barrie just stood and stared. “Didn’t you hear a word I said?”

  “Every one of them.”

  “And you’re still determined to do this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I don’t know what you want from me,” she said at last. “I don’t know how you expect me to do this show.”

  “Tastefully, Miss MacDonald. I expect you to do it tastefully. You’re trying too hard for sexy sophistication. There’s too much glib chatter and cynical ‘live it up in the fast lane’ behavior. The audience will never buy it. They won’t identify with it. Real people with deeply ingrained values don’t act that way. That’s as much of a fantasy as Father Knows Best. And you, of all people, should know it.”

  Barrie regarded him indignantly, her brown eyes flashing. “What do you mean?”

  “You walked out on me last night, when you wanted to stay, didn’t you?” Michael’s eyes met hers, captured them, held them in a passionate duel.

  “Who says I wanted to stay?” she fired back, the show momentarily forgotten.

  “I do,” he said softly, taking the few steps necessary to close the gap between them. His fingers trailed along her cheek, curved to cup her chin and remained there as his mouth descended slowly toward hers. Barrie’s whole body tensed at the touch, fought against the feelings that were sweeping through her, proving his point. When his lips brushed across hers, the tender caress was like the offer of a blazing fire to someone who’s been chilled by the night air. She moved irrevocably toward it, sought its comforting warmth. Her arms hung by her sides, her fingers curled into tight, angry fists. In her mind she saw herself pulling away, slapping his face, shouting at him that he was wrong. But deep inside, where that gentle kiss had set a wildfire blazing, she knew that it was a lie, knew beyond a doubt that she did want him, had wanted to stay with him last night, had left only to protect…what? Her lifelong vision of an unencumbered carefree future?

  At last she forced herself to listen to her head, to the cries of danger, and moved away from him.

  There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, a taunting satisfaction as she slipped out of his grasp. “I rest my case,” he said softly.

  “Oh, go to blazes,” she snapped. “So what have you proved? That I’m attracted to you? Big deal. There’s no accounting for the whims of hormones. What does that have to do with this scene? Last night…right now, that was about you and I, not Mason and Karen.”

  Michael smiled at her gently. “I’d say the similarity is pretty striking.”

  “Michael, this show is not about you and me. It’s fiction. And I think the story needs this scene to move forward.”

  “I think we need that scene to move forward, too,” he taunted. “But you don’t pay any attention to me. Why should Mason have better luck than I do?”

  Barrie stared at him incredulously. “That is the most peculiar bit of logic in support of censorship that I’ve ever heard.”

  “How about I’m the boss and what I say goes?”

  “And what I believe doesn’t matter?”

  Suddenly Michael’s lips formed a thin, very determined line. “Not in this case. No. I’m sorry.”

  “I see.”

  Without another word, Barrie turned and left the office, refusing to let him see the tears that glittered in her dark brown eyes. Her heart felt as though Michael had tap-danced across it. She’d had creative disagreements before. In fact, she had lost many of them. She should have been used to it. So why did this one hurt so much?

  Because it had been so personal, because Michael had taken that scene and linked it to their relationship. He, too, had apparently recognized that she was Karen. That recognition made his criticism hurt all the more. It was as though he were judging her, saying that her sense of morality was wrong. But it was the way most liberated women felt today, wasn’t it? She wrestled with that question all the way back to the studio.

  The short walk had never seemed to take quite so long. Nor had it ever been quite so lonely.

  Chapter Six

  Barrie slowly pushed open the heavy door to the studio and went inside. She had never before felt so thoroughly and utterly defeated. The sight of Danielle, Heath and Kevin, seated in a tense, silent circle, didn’t help. They were studying her expectantly, anxiously awaiting word of the outcome of her meeting. She knew that Danielle and Heath, at least, expected a victory.

  “Well?” Danielle asked.

  “The scene goes,” she said tersely and marched into her office. Danielle immediately rose and followed.

  “Want to talk about it?” she asked, closing the door.

  “About what? We lost. End of report.”

  “Not about that. About whatever it is that has you looking as though you’ve lost your best friend.”

  Barrie looked at her oddly. “Is that how I look?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Funny,” she said, and there was a note of sadness in her voice. “That’s how I feel, too.”

  Danielle studied her for several minutes. “You’re not just upset because Michael insisted on the change, are you?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because I know you. You’re stubborn, and you stand up for what you believe in, but you usually concede defeat more gracefully than this.”

  “Okay. You’re right,” she admitted reluctantly. “There is more to it. Good heavens, Dani, I’ve worked on enough shows now to know that there will be changes. It comes with the territory.”

  “But those weren’t your shows,” Danielle reminded her. “Maybe your pride is on the line here.”

  “True, and that’s part of it, I suppose. I love Goodbye, Again with my whole heart. I believe in it. But there’s more to it than that.”

  Danielle appeared puzzled. “What more could there be?”

  Barrie sank down wearily in the chair behind her desk. When she spoke at last, her voice was filled with frustration and pain. “Dani, he didn’t even listen to me. I walked in there to try to discuss this rationally…”

  “Rationally?” Danielle repeated skeptically.

  Barrie grinned. “Okay, so I came on like an outraged fishmonger’s wife. But I knew what I was talking about. I had perfectly valid arguments, and he paid absolutely no attention to them. He’d already made up his mind.”

  “Network programmers aren’t known for their open-mindedness. That shouldn’t come as a big surprise to you, either, and at least you tried.”

  “But this is Michael,” she said plaintively.

  Danielle’s blond eyebrows arched quizzically over gray eyes that were filled with sudden understanding. “And you’re falling in love with him.”

  Barrie stared at her, openmouthed. “No! Never!” she snapped indignantly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I hardly know the man.”

  “You know that he’s strong, intelligent, funny, powerful and has terrific legs. If you ask me, he’s what you’ve been looking for all your life. He may be the one man in the world who won’t let you trounce all over him. Are you sure that isn’t what this is all about? A last minute flurry of defiance before you take a tumble straight into his arms?”

  “Danielle, for a woman who professes to be my friend, you have a very odd way of being supportive.”

  “I’m only trying to make you see the obvious.”

  “That I’ve fallen for Michael Compton?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said with a smirk. “Like the proverbial ton of bricks.”

  “You’re cr
azy.”

  “If that’s not it, then why does one little disagreement over the content of this show matter so much?” she asked smugly.

  “Because it’s as though he’s rejecting me, my beliefs, my values. You’d hate it, too, if someone tried to make mincemeat out of your convictions.”

  “Of course I would,” Danielle agreed readily enough. Too readily. Barrie waited for the kicker. Danielle grinned. “Especially if I happened to be in love with him and wanted his approval more than anything.”

  “I repeat,” she said stoutly, “I am not in love with Michael Compton.”

  “Right,” Danielle said dryly. “And I’m the world’s skydiving champion.” She winked as she staged a perfectly executed tactical retreat. Her directorial sense of timing had never been better.

  “See you on the set,” she murmured as she closed the door with an emphatic click.

  Barrie watched her leave, then shuffled the papers on her desk as she tried to figure out just why she felt so miserable. She refused to concede the possibility that Danielle might be right and that she could be falling in love with Michael Compton. That was too absurd to consider. True, he was all of those things Danielle had said, and more. He was sensitive and kind, and he challenged her in ways no other man ever had. He had even told her he wanted her to be the very best she could be. Not that she’d believed him. That was a line many men used, right before they asked you to give up something important. Good Lord, just look at what he’d asked her to do today.

  Worse, his rejection of her arguments, his refusal to even really consider them, had seemed so arbitrary. That hurt even more coming from a man who permitted all sorts of violence and mayhem, to say nothing of some of the steamiest sex on television, after nine o’clock at night. On the other hand, she wasn’t being permitted even the tiniest indiscretion, just because it would occur at 8:21. Where was the logic in that?

  Not that arguing the point with him would do a bit of good. He had been pretty adamant, and she’d seen enough of his stubborn streak in the past couple of days to know it was a lost cause. They would just have to figure out some way to make the episode work without tearing the heart out of the show. Heath could do it, if he had to. He wouldn’t sell out the show’s integrity in the process, either.

  But before she could think of a single tip to give him to help him pull off that bit of magic, someone tapped on her door.

  “Yes.”

  The door opened, and Michael peered in hesitantly, as though expecting a barrage of well-aimed missiles to greet him. “Still mad?”

  Barrie glowered at him, though her blasted traitorous heart flipped over happily. She managed to keep an edge in her voice. “Furious. What are you doing here?”

  “I thought maybe you’d like to go out with me tonight and forget about all of this.”

  Barrie shook her head in amazement. “You really are something. How do you manage to keep your personal life and your professional life in such tidy little separate compartments?”

  “Practice,” he informed her smugly. “Come out with me, and I’ll give you some tips.”

  “Forget it. I have a script to revise, or have you forgotten?”

  “Hardly. But you also have a perfectly competent writer to do it for you.”

  “We work as a team around here.”

  “Can’t one member of the team take the night off?” he asked, perching on the edge of her desk and pulling two tickets out of his pocket. He waved them at her. “Box seats for the Dodgers against the Reds. It could decide who gets in the play-offs.”

  “A baseball game?” she asked incredulously. Was the man psychic? How had he known that it was the one thing that might tempt her? She could have refused the symphony, a play, or even a very romantic moonlit sailboat ride to Catalina. She could not resist baseball.

  She eyed him warily. “How did you know?”

  He grinned at her and, despite her best effort at resistance, her blood sizzled. “That you like baseball? I make it a point to get to know everything I can about my people.”

  “Danielle and her big mouth,” Barrie muttered under her breath. Aloud she said only, “Okay, Compton. What time?”

  “I’ll pick you up at six. We’ll have dinner at the stadium.”

  “The man who whips up gourmet meals in a flash is going to condescend to eat hot dogs?”

  His eyes flashed, dazzling her with their amused glitter. “Peanuts and popcorn, too.”

  “What! No crackerjacks?”

  “Be nice to me, and I’ll get some for you,” he taunted.

  “I am never that nice,” she replied haughtily.

  “So I’ve noticed. See you at six.”

  “Don’t you need my address?”

  “I’ve got it,” he said smugly. “Haven’t you caught on yet? I know just about everything about you. For instance, there’s this cute little birthmark…”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Why you…”

  His deep laugh rumbled through the office. “Careful, Miss MacDonald.”

  Barrie picked up her Rolodex and started to throw it at him but decided she was in no mood to pick up all those little cards if the thing flew apart. Besides, tonight would be soon enough to get even with him. He might have learned about her passion for baseball, but she doubted if he’d also discovered that her loyalties were with her home team, the Cincinnati Reds. She wondered if that mile-wide macho protective streak of his extended to saving one very vocal Cincinnati fan from the wrath of an entire Dodger crowd.

  She grinned impishly. It was going to be a very interesting evening, and whatever happened was going to serve him right. As for that birthmark, she thought stoutly, hell could freeze over before he’d get to see that firsthand.

  When Michael arrived promptly at six to pick her up, he didn’t seem to attach any special significance to the fact that she was wearing a red-and-white pin-striped blouse with a pair of bright red walking shorts. He seemed much more interested in her slender bare legs, and for a fleeting instant she wondered if the shorts had been a bad idea. Nope, not in this heat, she decided firmly, ignoring his all-too-appreciative gaze.

  They made the drive to Dodger Stadium in record time and were in their seats well before the first pitch was thrown. As soon as they were sitting down, Barrie reached into her purse and extracted a large button proclaiming her a member of the Rose Garden. As she pinned it on her collar, Michael looked from the button to her perfectly bland expression and back again.

  “Pete Rose?” he asked weakly.

  “Of course,” she responded casually as she reached back into her purse and pulled out a red-and-white Cincinnati banner. He seemed to turn pale beneath his perfect California tan.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked in a choked voice.

  She beamed at him. “I thought you already knew everything about me.”

  “You think you’re a real wise guy, don’t you? You knew I had no idea you were a Reds fan.”

  “Does it matter?” she asked innocently. “I don’t mind if you want to cheer for the Dodgers. Of course, it will be a losing cause.”

  “Like hell,” he grumbled, getting to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Bring me a hot dog, would you?”

  He gave her a curt nod as he stalked off through the stands. Barrie chuckled as she watched him go. This was wonderful, even better than she’d anticipated. Michael clearly took his baseball very seriously. As she did.

  While he was away, she read through the program and watched the players warm up on the field. Seeing the Reds in action again was like going back to her childhood, when she and her father had made the drive to Cincinnati’s Riverfront Stadium on his infrequent visits home. Those baseball games had been the only times they had connected, the only times when he’d even seemed to notice she was alive. Ever since she’d been in L.A., she had made it a point to go to see the Reds play at least once when they came to town. It always brought back one of the few good memories she had of her fathe
r, though try as she might, it couldn’t temper the bitterness.

  “Here’s your hot dog.” Michael’s gruff words interrupted her reveries. When she looked up, she almost burst out laughing. He was wearing a blue Dodger cap and had the stick holding a Dodger pennant tucked in his belt to free his hands for the cardboard tray of hot dogs and beers.

  “I see you’re getting into the spirit of this,” she taunted lightly.

  “You bet I am. Maybe we should make a little wager on the outcome of this game, just to make it interesting,” he suggested with a wickedly seductive little glimmer in his eyes.

  Barrie licked her lips nervously. “Umm…I think it will be plenty interesting without that.”

  “Coward.” There was a definite challenge in Michael’s quietly spoken taunt, and there was no way Barrie was going to ignore it. She was too much of a scrapper.

  “Okay, Compton. What’s the bet?”

  “If Cincinnati wins, I will take you to that benefit gala at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion next week.” He gazed at her significantly. “And if the Dodgers win, you’ll come home with me tonight.”

  She shook her head adamantly. “Nice try, but that’s no bet. You win either way.”

  He brushed a finger across her lips to silence her doubts. “So do you,” he promised softly, setting off a series of tiny flutters in Barrie’s abdomen. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come out. She licked her lips and tried again.

  “How about letting me do the show the way I want to, if Cincinnati wins. That’s a real bet.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. No deal. I don’t play games with my professional decisions.”

  Barrie sighed. “It was worth a try.”

  “How about my terms? Will you accept them?”

  She glanced out on the field as if in search of reassurance that the Reds would not let her down and get her in even deeper with Michael before the night was out. Did she dare to accept a bet that might land her in his bed? Suddenly she grinned to herself. The bet said nothing about where she would sleep tonight. A loss by Cincinnati only dictated where they would go after the game. Even though Michael might have a very clear impression of what he wanted to happen when they got there, she was still perfectly capable of saying no.