by Nic Tatano
"No, I suppose not."
"Anyway, if I had a shot at Dexter Bishop, I wouldn't give a damn if we had anything at all in common."
"Yeah, you would."
She laughed. "Maybe after awhile. But awhile would be a lot of fun, know what I mean?" She turned back to the mirror. "I really thought I had a celebrity scoop. Honestly, the way he looks at you I figured you two were an item."
"What way?"
She pulled out her cell phone, touched a few buttons and handed it to me. The screen was filled with a photo of the two of us during our dance together. Dexter had that look I'd seen earlier, but somehow, seen from a different point of view…
"If I didn't know better I'd say that was the look of love," she said.
***
My feet were barking as I took off my shoes in the limo and stretched out my legs. We'd dropped off the kids and were headed home. I took a quick look at my watch, which read a quarter to three, and laughed.
"What's so funny," asked Dexter.
"I was just thinking … I'd have gotten up forty-five minutes ago if I was back on my regular shift."
"Well, lucky for you that you're a good dancer."
"You mean lucky for me the show's fixed."
"Honestly, Veronica, I haven't had to tamper with the show at all. You've done remarkably well."
"Oh, remarkably? Does that mean you're surprised?"
"Young lady, you seem to surprise me on a regular basis."
Bang!
The loud noise from the front of the car made both of us jump. I turned around and saw smoke coming out from under the hood as our driver pulled over onto the shoulder.
"That didn't sound good," I said.
Dexter shook his head, said, "No, and it doesn't look good either," then got out of the car. I watched as he met the driver at the front of the limo. They opened the hood and thick black smoke billowed out. They waved away the smoke, studied the engine, and then the driver pulled out his cell phone as Dexter headed back.
"So, you a mechanic too?" I asked as he got in.
"I worked on my own car when I was younger."
"So what is it?"
"Some sort of problem with the engine, so we're not going anywhere in this vehicle."
"So we’re stuck here?"
"For the time being. Unless you fancy walking back to Manhattan."
"Wonderful."
The driver tapped on the window and Dexter lowered it. "They'll have another car here in thirty minutes, Mister Bishop."
"Thank you, Henry. That's not bad considering the time of day." The driver walked back to the front and got in the driver's seat while Dexter rolled up the window.
I realized I needed a little help to get through the next hour until I got home and eyed the bar. "You got anymore of that champagne?"
"Excellent idea," he said, as he reached for the bar and pulled out a bottle. "I've had my fill of punch for the evening."
"No kidding." Though we'd had "breakfast" I was still hungry from all the dancing. "You got anything to eat?"
"Macadamia nuts or chocolates?"
"Yes."
"Which?"
"I said yes. That means both."
He handed me a jar of nuts and an expensive looking box of chocolates. I tore into them as he attended to the champagne. He popped the cork, poured two glasses and handed one to me. "I must say, it was an enjoyable evening."
"Yeah, I think we made a big deposit into the karma bank. But you did a lot more than I did."
Dexter shrugged. "I didn't do anything different than you."
"Oh, come on. You had the limo outfitted for the wheelchair, sprung for a really great dinner. All that wasn't cheap."
He started to laugh.
"What?"
"Veronica, you're new to the seven-figure salary club, but I assure you, there are only so many lobsters you can eat. I couldn't possibly spend all my money in a dozen lifetimes, so I might as well do some good with it."
"Does that mean you wanna come clean on the big tip at the restaurant?"
"Are we off the record?"
I made the zipper motion across my lips, turned the imaginary key and threw it away. "I'm a vault."
"Well, there's a Bible verse my mum used to read me, about charity. The left hand is not supposed to know what the right hand is doing, that charitable acts should be done in secret."
"That's very noble, but you didn't answer the question."
"I believe I just did." He smiled and sipped his champagne. I did the same.
Five minutes later I needed another glass.
Fifteen minutes and two more glasses later I was seriously buzzed, but really loosened up. The usual tension I felt around Dexter had melted away. "So, I gotta ask. What's your problem with Bradley?"
"I don't have a problem with him."
I wagged my index finger at him. "Ah, but you do. You always stick him with a contestant who can't win. I checked. And you were going to do it again this time. You also said the partner you originally paired me with was a better person."
"Fine. Bradley has been … at times … difficult."
"Difficult how?"
"I don't appreciate the way he treats the contestants. And he has a bad attitude about the show. He should be grateful he's part of a network hit and not having to do cattle calls on Broadway."
"So why don't you fire him and get someone else?"
"Because he's immensely popular with the viewers. Which is the same reason Gavin doesn't sack you."
My face tightened. "Ewwww. Why would I want to sleep with a creep like Gavin?"
"Getting sacked means getting fired."
"Oh." Then it occurred to me what he had said and I flashed a huge smile. "So, if I'm reading your analogy correctly, Bradley is to you as I am to Gavin. We're both very popular with the viewers, but both very difficult to deal with."
"You seem to wear your snarky attitude as a badge of honor."
"Damn straight. So, Dex," I said, stretching out the length of the bench seat as I talked through a mouthful of nuts. "Moving on from Bradley, what are your intentions with Savannah?"
He furrowed his brow. "How do you mean?"
"Well, are you serious about her?"
"A gentleman never kisses and tells."
"C'mon, Dex, just one little detail."
"We enjoy spending time together."
"Dammit, you two really got your story straight." I shook my head and rolled my eyes. "That's not gonna make the tabloids. C'mon, I saw the way you looked at her when you first met. Practically tripped over your tongue." I stuck my leg across the compartment and gave his a gentle push. "C'mon, I'm getting drunk and I probably won't remember anything you tell me anyway."
He shook his head.
"Fine. You wanna tell me why you talk about me when you're out with her?"
I spotted a slight flush in his face. "We talk about the people who are important to us. I simply asked about your relationship."
"Uh-huh. So, she didn't mind you calling me the most beautiful woman you've ever had on the show."
He shook his head. "I was merely complimenting her friend."
"Were you being honest?"
Now I got a better flush.
"Ah-ha!"
"Ah-ha, what?"
"You do think I'm attractive!"
"I would venture to guess that most of the men in New York and the rest of the country agree, so my opinion is not at all unique."
"But coming from you, that means something. You're Dexter Bishop, voted the best looking man on the planet. You're rich, famous. A guy who can have any woman he wants."
"Contrary to popular belief, Veronica, that last part isn't true."
***
Around four in the morning our replacement limo pulled up in front of my apartment building. I had left buzzed in the rear view mirror and was about to pass sloshed on the autobahn on the way to hammered. Thankfully I didn't see any paparazzi around as the world did not need to see a mor
ning anchor who is supposed to have gravitas falling down drunk after a high school prom of all things.
The chauffeur opened the door for me and I got out, only to find Dexter already on the sidewalk extending his hand. "What are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm being a gentleman and escorting you to the door."
I waved my hand. "I'm fine." I started to walk and was seriously unsteady on my heels.
"I think you could use a hand."
"I can make it." I narrowed my eyes and focused on the quickly blurring front door. Then I started to sway and fall. I felt a strong arm catch me, then in an instant found myself lifted off the ground. Dexter was carrying me toward my building. "Hey, put me down!"
"Must you always be so difficult? You can't even walk, Veronica."
"I can walk." My head started to spin so I leaned it against his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. "Whoa. Well, maybe not."
"Finally, the poster child for stubbornness stops fighting me."
He carried me into the building and across the lobby to the elevators. I expected him to put me down, but instead he managed to hit the up button with his shoe. "Hey, where do you think you're going?"
"Your flat."
My head snapped up. "I am not! You've seen me in that blue spandex!"
"Veronica, a flat is an apartment."
"Oh. I thought you were commenting about my boobs." The elevator door opened and he carried me inside. "You can just drop me here."
"You want to spend the night riding up and down on the lift?"
"Excuse me? You're not sleeping here!"
"A lift is our name for an elevator. Must you think everything I say has sexual connotations? Now what floor do you live on?"
"Sorry. Seven." I reached out and pushed the button. The door closed, we headed up and my head began to spin again. I tightened my grip around his neck. "Whoa."
"Are you alright?"
I leaned my head back against him. "I just need to go to bed and sleep it off. Damn champagne."
"Revenge of the grape," he said, as the elevator door opened. I directed Dexter to my apartment and he carried me there. Again, he didn't put me down.
"You're not coming in."
"You think you can make it all the way to your bedroom without passing out?"
"Of course."
"Fine."
Dexter put me down. “Good night,” I said, just before the world spun for the final time and went black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
As far as waking up after you've passed out goes, I'll take lobster bisque in my hair any day compared to the massive hangover that greeted me at the crack of noon. My bedroom came into focus as I rubbed my eyes and grabbed my head, which felt like it weighed twenty pounds. I slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed, got up, and staggered to the bathroom, steadying myself against the wall on the way. Priority one was mouthwash. I took a slug straight from the bottle in an effort to get rid of my horrible breath which, as Savannah would say, would knock the proverbial buzzard off a shit wagon. After spitting out the stuff I leaned on the counter, looked in the mirror, and was greeted by light socket hair and makeup that looked like it was applied in the dark.
Then I noticed something. I stepped back and saw I was still in my dress from the previous night. Must have been too tired to take it off.
Come to think of it, how did I get in my bed?
I replayed the fuzzy memories from the previous night. I remembered Dexter carrying me into the building and to the door of my apartment. After that, I remember thinking I was going to pass out. So I must have passed out in the hallway.
Did Dexter put me to bed? And if so—
A knock at the door interrupted my train of thought. I walked to the door, deciding that if it wasn't someone really close to me I was not going to open it looking like this.
I relaxed when I saw Layla through the peephole and let her in.
Her jaw dropped. "Good God, did you just get home?"
"No, I just got up. C'mon in before anyone sees me."
"What time did you get back?"
"Around four. Our engine blew on the Jersey Turnpike and we had to wait for another car. So we raided the liquor cabinet in the limo."
"You look like you raided a liquor store."
"I feel like it. What brings you by?"
"We were going for a drive down the shore, remember? Hit that old fashioned malt shop with those cheeseburgers you love, do some shopping."
"Oh, dammit, I'm sorry. I totally forgot. Give me a few minutes to hop in the shower and then we can go."
"If you're not up to it—"
"No, the fresh air will do me good."
"So, you were too hammered to take off your dress?"
"I'm, uh, pretty sure I passed out and was carried in here."
"By who? Your doorman?"
"No. Dexter."
"Really." Her eyes widened as she grabbed a chair in the kitchen, smiled, propped her elbows on the counter and rested her head in her palms. "Do tell."
"Well, as far as I can remember, we pulled up to my building, I almost fell, he caught me, carried me inside because I was too drunk to walk, then dropped me at the door. After that I don't remember a thing because I'm pretty sure I passed out."
"You think Dexter put you to bed?"
"It's the only logical explanation."
"If that's true, he could have taken off your dress to check under the hood."
Yeah. But he didn't.
Dammit, conflicted again.
***
"How's your ankle?"
Hal the newsstand guy looked at my feet as he handed me the Sunday paper. "Huh?" I asked, half asleep.
He pointed at the front page. "I read that you twisted it."
I handed him a ten, then turned the paper around right side up.
There it was, a grainy screen grab from the security camera in our lobby. Dexter Bishop carrying me like a bride. "Oh, shit."
"Big Brother's always watchin' these days, Freckles."
I opened the paper to page two and the headline threw a bucket of cold water in my face, making me wide awake.
CHIVALROUS BRIT SAVES DAMSEL IN DISTRESS
If you thought Dance Off judge Dexter Bishop and network info-babe Veronica Summer were an item after looking at the above photo, taken at four in the morning, you'd be wrong.
Turns out the sarcastic-but-dashing star from across the pond was simply being a gentleman.
How the two ended up like this in the middle of the night is a long story, but one worth telling. Turns out Bishop and Summer were escorts for two physically challenged teenagers to their high school prom in New Jersey. Their limo broke down on the Jersey Turnpike on the way back to Manhattan, which explains their very late arrival back home.
As for the photo that looks like the final one in a wedding album, Bishop cleared it up.
"Miss Summer was exhausted after dancing the entire night and turned her ankle when she exited the limo. She was unable to walk on it, so I gave her a lift up to her flat." (That's British for "apartment.")
And if you think that sounds like a bogus story to cover up any romantic sparks between the two, you'd be wrong. Security cam video shows that Bishop left the building a few minutes later.
As for their good deeds that had been kept quiet, well, the secret's out. Students and teachers from the high school flooded social media with photos and glowing comments.
"It was the best night of my life," said Heather Starling, Bishop's "date" who is paralyzed from the waist down. "Mister Bishop picked me up in a limo specially equipped for wheelchairs. He took us out to a really expensive dinner and was such a gentleman all evening, dancing with me and anyone who asked. I'll never forget it."
Miss Summer's companion, Jim Larsen, echoed the sentiments. "She's as beautiful inside as she is outside. I was the envy of every guy at the prom. I wish I was ten years older."
Bishop and Summer were named honorar
y king and queen of the prom, which explains the many photos of them dancing together. However, we're disappointed that the two are not dating, as they would possibly be the snarkiest couple on the planet.
The opposite page was filled with photos from the prom.
Hal's voice broke my concentration with a sing-song grade school rhyme. "Veronica and Dexter, sittin' in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g."
I glared at him and he stopped.
"So, how's that well-turned ankle of yours?" he asked.
"Uh, oh, it's fine. I put some ice on it. Nothing major."
"Good. You don't need to be on the disabled list for that show." He reached out and tapped the photo which showed Dexter and me dancing. "So, you two aren't … together?"
I shook my head. "Nope. Just work for the same network."
"Huh. Sure looks like you oughta be."
***
Savannah, who had spent Saturday with Dexter, quickly cleared up the mystery at brunch as to how I'd made it into bed fully clothed. My theory was correct. I'd passed out in the hall and he had put me to bed. "I told you he was nice," she said. "Any other guy would have ripped off your dress and done God knows what to you."
"I suppose I owe him one. Right after I get our overnight security guard fired. Can't believe he sold those tapes."
"Oh, come on, all those photos were innocent," said Layla. "And now the world knows what we do."
"What's that?" I asked.
"That once you peel away the snarky, sarcastic bitch suit you wear on the morning show you're really a softie."
"Shit, there goes my reputation."
"He said you two had a nice evening, by the way," said Savannah.
"Don't you get tired of him talking about me all the time?" I asked.
She shrugged. "As I said before, we do discuss things during dinner."
"You two still getting along?" asked Layla.
She nodded. "We really enjoy spending time together."
Boy, they've got that line down pat. "I'm happy for you," I said. "I hate to admit it, but I think you're dating a nice guy."
And that maybe, just maybe, I missed something special.
No, wait. He's Savannah's guy, and I'm happy for her.
Yeah, let’s go with that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Friday was a big day. I actually had to get to the studio at seven to go live at seven-thirty, but I didn't mind since the guest was the woman who would be President, Senator Sydney Dixon. Gavin didn't want to pre-tape something this important and be stuck holding it till Monday. Not a big deal since I'm going to be flying the friendly skies of Air Force One. Though she still hadn't formally announced her candidacy.