by Nic Tatano
"Me?"
He nodded.
"After the way I treated you? I was a total bitch."
"You thought the real me was the persona I portray on television. I would surmise you finally realized I'm nothing of the sort."
"Yeah. I surmised. Took me awhile, but I got there. With a lotta help from my friends. I'm a little stubborn, in case you hadn't noticed."
"I hadn't. Perhaps I should call your network to break into programming with a news bulletin to that effect. We interrupt our regularly scheduled program to tell you Veronica Summer is an immovable object."
"Smart ass."
"Alas, you're also an irresistible force. I realized the tough, take-no-prisoners journalist is the persona you portray, not the real Veronica. You simply couldn't turn it off after hours."
"You're right about that. Still, I'm curious. Why me?"
"You still don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?"
"Why you're so special."
"No, I honestly don't. Enlighten me."
"Because I felt it."
"It?"
"You're not only the It Girl for the show, but you have the intangible my heart craves."
"And that intangible would be … ?"
"Don't know. But you're the only woman I've ever met who has it. Perhaps it's the fire in your eyes, your life force, your incredible mind, your bold personality, your independence, your cute little freckles. A combination of everything. One cannot define attraction. One cannot define it. And you're my It Girl."
"For what it's worth, I felt it last night too."
"Still feel it this morning? Or was I simply a bit of exercise?"
"You don't get off that easy, Mister. It is still there."
He smiled as he turned off the burners on the cooktop. "So, hungry?"
“Are you kidding? I had the full English last night.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
An hour later I was trying my best not to look like I was walking on air when Hal's voice cut through the sounds of the city.
"So, why didn't you just kiss him?"
The newsstand guy smiled at me as he handed me the morning papers. "I wasn't planning to."
"Pfffft. Yeah, right. I suppose it was all part of the routine."
"It was."
"Right. And denial is a river in Egypt. Veronica, I've been married too long to miss something that obvious. You've got it bad for that guy, and the whole world knows it. I got a high-def TV, you know. I can see your eyes. And you got the look."
"What look?"
"The woman-in-love look."
I actually wanted to tell the world about the new relationship, to shout it from the rooftops, but it wasn't the time. And I had a ways to go before saying the ‘L’ word anyway. Plus, I knew Dexter valued his privacy as much as I did. "Believe what you want, Hal."
"Sure, kiddo. Just make sure I get a wedding invitation." He glanced at the small portable television he always had playing in the newsstand. "Hey, isn't that your old partner?"
He pointed at the screen which was filled with Bradley's face.
My pulse spiked when I saw the graphic below.
Former Dance Off star says show is fixed.
***
I was out of breath as I jammed the key in my door and shoved it open.
Dexter was gone.
I saw a note on the kitchen table and quickly ran to it.
Veronica,
Had to put out a fire at the network. Will call later.
-Dex
Just as I finished reading my cell rang. I saw it was Layla. "Hey."
"You got your TV on?"
"No, why?"
"Put it on."
"Which channel?"
"All of them."
I ran to the living room, grabbed the remote and fired it at the television. The screen cleared and filled with Dexter's face. "How long has this been on?"
"Just started."
"Call you later." I hung up and turned up the sound.
Dexter was beginning a news conference from the lobby of his production office. And, from the looks of things the sharks were in the water.
"Thank you for coming," he said. "I'll make a short statement, and then take questions. This morning, a former employee of our production accused Dance Off of not being on the level, saying that the outcome of the show was pre-determined. As the Executive Producer of the show I stand before you today to categorically deny those accusations. They are simply the ramblings of a disgruntled former employee who was recently let go due to a violation of our morals clause. While the outcome of Dance Off has always been up to the judges and the viewers, their opinions are subjective. You may not always agree with the choice of the winning couple, or with those voted off each week, but the competition has always been on the up and up. I'll now take your questions."
The horde of reporters fired questions at the same time. One cut through the chatter. "Bradley says the voting process is rigged, that the viewers' votes mean nothing. How do you respond?"
"As has been the case from the beginning of the program, the viewers' votes have counted as a percentage of the final tally. Anyone who has watched the show will notice that when we flash the numbers on the bottom of the screen, there is a notation clearly stating that the viewers' votes do not comprise one hundred percent of the vote. The judges’ votes are factored in as well."
"Why not let the viewers' votes count for one hundred percent?"
"Well, a few years ago there was a similar talent show with a contestant who was just dreadful. An internet campaign was mounted to gather votes on his behalf; an electronic flash mob if you will, designed to make a mockery of the competition by keeping the worst contestants on the show. Our system prevents that from happening. Having the judges’ input factored in with the viewers' votes is a fail-safe method. Should we ever see an obvious anomaly in the viewers votes, the judges would have the right to overrule."
"And you were one of the judges until a week ago."
"Yes."
"Was there ever an occasion where you had to employ that fail-safe method?"
"Thankfully, no. But my input, as well as that of the other judges, was always factored in. In many cases a contestant may have been the top choice of the viewers but not the judges, or vice versa. You add everything up and get the results. It's the same as many beauty pageants that incorporate votes from viewers. It's just part of our interactive society."
"Bradley claims he got this information from Veronica Summer, who was told she didn't have to worry about being voted off the first week."
Oh, shit.
Dexter nodded.
Ho-lee shit.
I broke out in a cold sweat. Had I sabotaged something wonderful?
"That is true," said Dexter. "But let me explain. You don't want a contestant walking on eggshells, or in this case, dancing on them, worrying about being voted off. I surmised that she would be more relaxed if she believed she could not be voted off, and it worked. However, had she been dreadful, she would have been shown the door."
"Bradley says you always put him with a contestant who had no chance of winning."
"Well, up until this week he'd been dancing with Miss Summer, and I'm sure you'll agree she has an excellent chance of winning."
"Speaking of Miss Summer, did you think she was going to kiss you last night?"
He shook his head and smiled. "Of course not. It was part of the routine. The mambo is a sensual dance so we thought we'd have a little fun and tease the viewers. And we did end up with the highest score of the evening."
"So you two aren't dating?"
He shook his head. "She's merely my dance partner. Nothing more."
Ouch.
The news conference ended and I turned off the television.
A single tear rolled down my cheek.
I was the source of the problem.
More important, was I merely his dance partner now?
***
My heart h
adn't stopped pounding. I flew out of the cab and ran into the production building. "He's expecting me," I said to the receptionist, who waved me on but didn't smile.
Uh-oh.
Everyone's blaming me for this.
I'll be lucky if he even speaks to me.
The elevator seemed to be taking forever to get to the penthouse floor. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" I paced around the car until it came to a stop and the door finally opened, revealing Dexter on the phone behind his desk.
He didn't look pleased. He looked up at me and didn't smile.
"Yes, it will blow over," he said, to whoever he was talking with on the phone. "Yes, Sir. I think the viewers see this for what it is, a former employee being angry. Yes, thank you. Chat soon."
He hung up and exhaled deeply, then looked at me.
I moved quickly toward him. "Dexter, I am so, so sorry. When I told Bradley all that stuff I was mad at you—"
He put up his hand. "I understand."
I bit my lower lip and started to cry. "I can't believe he did this and put you in this position. I know you probably hate me."
He reached out, took my shoulders and pulled me close. I wrapped my arms around him and my emotions exploded as I buried my head in his chest. He started to gently stroke my hair and kissed the side of my head. "It's not that bad, Veronica."
I leaned back and looked up at him. "Not that bad? This is a huge scandal!"
He wiped away my tears with his thumb and offered a soft smile. "It's just an entertainment show. It's not like we're doing brain surgery here. Trust me, this will blow over."
"I can't believe you're not furious with me."
"Why on earth would I be furious with you?"
"Duh, because I'm the cause of this problem. I put you in a horrible position."
"And I just got through explaining it all to the media. It's done. Everyone will see through Bradley's motivation."
"What about the part where I found out I couldn't get voted off the show?"
"That was absolutely true in your case. You needed confidence in your dancing, and you would do better if you honestly believed you wouldn't get voted off. It's been done before with other contestants. Trust me, if you'd been dreadful you would have been gone. Even the network wouldn't keep you on if you were obviously the worst dancer, because that would have made the show appear to be fixed. They asked me to do everything I could to keep you on, as they've done with other contestants, so we simply got you in a confident mood. And I also think you wanted to succeed to get back at me."
"But when I let you know that I might reveal the show was fixed, you looked scared."
"Even the accusation from a respected journalist would have been devastating. Do we give more help to contestants we know are popular with viewers? Absolutely. And we pair them with the best dancers. If that means the show is fixed, then I'm guilty as charged."
"No, I'm the guilty one."
"Please stop beating yourself up, Veronica. Everything's fine."
"You're honestly not mad at me?"
"Veronica, I finally got the woman I've been enchanted with to notice me. Why on earth would I be upset over something so trivial?"
"It's not trivial."
"In the grand scheme of things, it is. We all make mistakes, we all do things we regret. None of that changes the qualities I admire in you."
"So I'm not merely your dance partner like you told reporters?"
"After the wonderful night we just spent? You shouldn't have to ask that question. You need to learn to separate my television persona from the real me. Look, I knew you didn't want our relationship to go public. It's just a bit of misdirection. I certainly hope I didn't hurt your feelings." His eyes looked right into my soul and gave it a hug. My eyes welled up again and I started to cry. "Oh dear, apparently I have hurt your feelings. Veronica, please don't be upset with me."
“I’m not upset,” I said, hugging him tighter. “Typical man. You don’t understand tears of joy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
ONE MONTH LATER
We all have days that can significantly change our lives. From big forks in the road to the smallest decisions, at some point we can all look back and replay the times when our lives took a turn for the better or worse.
This was one of those days.
It was the last episode of Dance Off, and I was one of the two finalists. But whether I go home with a garish trophy or not won't affect my career.
It was also the day when the network would make a decision about who gets The Chair. The current sub has had a month, and the ratings are really no different than Bill Recker's, which weren't great to start with. So I think I've got a pretty good shot. Of course, neither Gavin nor any of the higher-ups has told me this will be a red letter day. I'm simply going on Scott's bathroom surveillance. So tonight I might be the happiest dancer ever on Dance Off.
Or the most depressed.
Of course, if it's the latter, I have a very special man who I know will be able to cheer me up. And if it’s the former, I have a very special man who will hit the jackpot in the bedroom when we get home.
Yes, the last month has been the proverbial whirlwind romance. I simply cannot believe how much we have in common and how compatible we are. Once I took off my journalism hat and let Layla's wave take me I finally realized what everyone else did. We really enjoy teaching each other fun stuff about our respective cultures. Amazingly we've been able to keep the relationship quiet and out of the tabloids, though once Dance Off is over we won't be able to use that as our excuse for being together.
But pretty soon I won't care if the whole world knows.
While neither of us has said the "L" word, we know it's inevitable. I already feel it, and I think he does as well. I, of course, have been stubborn (so what else is new?), having never been the one to say it first. Seriously, is there anything worse than saying "I love you" and having the other person not say it back? Talk about high risk. He's still the shy high school boy when we're alone, having that fear of rejection demon lurking in the back of his head. Some babe must have done a real number on his head when he was younger. Can you believe the most desirable man on earth is afraid of losing me? I sure can't. I'm nothing special, but he seems to think I am.
Not that I'm complaining.
I'd just gotten off the set when Gavin walked through the studio. "Veronica, can I see you for a minute?"
This was it.
"Sure," I said, trying my best not to let him know my heart rate was off the charts. I followed him to his office. He opened the door, gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. I took a seat as he closed the door and sat down behind his desk. I grabbed the arms of the chair and began to squeeze the life out of them.
"Okay," he said, folding his hands on his desk. "I wanted you to hear this from me before the gossip train gets rolling."
Here it comes.
"I'm not going to be producing The Morning Show any longer."
"Oh." This is not the news I want right now. Personally, I couldn't care less if Gavin is leaving to become a toll collector on the Jersey Turnpike. "Well, it's been nice working with you. Where are you going?"
"I'm not going anywhere. The network has reassigned me." He flashed a big smile. "I've been named as the new producer of the evening newscast."
"Wow. Well, congratulations, I know you'll do a fine job." C'mon, tell me, yes or no! "So, who will I be working with?"
"You'll be working with me." His smile got bigger as I realized what he was saying.
"Are you kidding me?"
"Veronica, it's my pleasure today to offer you the lead anchor position on the evening news. You're going to be the face of the network."
***
I blew through the door of the practice studio, knowing Dexter would be there early before the cameras were turned on. He was working on some dance moves. He saw me and smiled as I ran toward him, jumped into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist.
"Well, if yo
u miss me this much after just a few hours I should go away for a weekend."
"I got it!"
"Got what?"
"Duh! The job! The main anchor job with the network! No more mornings, no more crazy hours!" I hugged him as tight as possible, then gave him a big kiss. "You just kissed the most powerful woman in television news."
"I think you had that title before."
"Smart ass."
"That's wonderful news, Veronica, I know this means a lot to you and I'm thrilled for you. Congratulations. We'll have to celebrate after the show tonight."
I wanted to take him right then and there. "Damn, I wanna celebrate right now!"
"The floor is a bit hard."
"Yeah, and we have to rehearse, I know. But get ready for the best night of your life, Mister."
***
I was bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet in the green room as we watched our competition. I had to admit, they were fabulous, and their mash-up routine of music and different styles of dance was spectacular. Dexter had put together clips of songs that would show off our strong points, and the rehearsals had gone flawlessly. But it would be hard to beat what I was watching.
What the hell, nothing could ruin this night.
A production assistant stuck his head in the door. "Five minutes."
"Thank you."
The guy stood there in the doorway. "We're sure gonna miss you around here, Mister Bishop."
"I'll miss being here," he said. The production guy nodded and left.
What the hell was this? "What was he talking about?" I asked.
"This is my last show."
"Yeah, of the season."
"No, in the American version. You knew that."
"No, I didn't. And I'm not sure I understand why this is your last show if you're the star of the highest rated show on the network."
"Veronica, everyone knows I've been on loan from British television."
"Well, I didn't know that." Suddenly I was getting concerned. "Wait a minute. If you're on loan … does that mean … you're going back to London?"
He nodded. "Veronica, I'm so sorry, but I hadn't any idea you didn't know."
"I never watched your show or even knew who you were before this. How would I know? When are you going back?"