by Carla Fredd
"You might as well come over early and get it over with. How about ten?"
"We'll be here."
"We've got Jay Z and Beyoncé scheduled for next Thursday." Andy Kurtz shuffled through his appointment book, which lay open on the soft couch in Michael's living room. Andy conducted himself as if he were wearing a business suit and not a denim shirt and tan Dockers. His attention to detail was reflected in the highly polished gleam of his round, dark-rimmed glasses and the high gloss shine of his burgundy loafers. He was a short, wiry man who could get things done.
Michael put his feet, clad in old, scuffed basketball shoes, on the coffee table and glanced down at the schedule of guests to appear on his show. The bright morning sun filtered through the large windows in his living room.
"Good. What about Halle? Have we gotten a firm date from her office?" Michael continued speaking without giving his assistant a chance to reply. "Call the public relations office of the Braves, the Hawks and the Falcons. See if we can get someone from each team to talk about sports here in Atlanta." He put aside the schedule and glanced up at Andy. "Get all the information on Holly Aimes as soon as possible."
"Holly Aimes," Andy said thoughtfully. "Oh, you mean Trey Christian's old fiancée. Are you going to invite her to be on the show?"
"Maybe," Michael said evasively.
"I don't think she's given an interview herself. Usually Trey or a member of her family talks to the press." Andy tapped his pen on his appointment book, his lips pursed in concentration. "If she doesn't want to be on the show, it might be interesting to invite her brother, Robert. He and Trey are appearing in the same movie next month." Andy leaned forward, "I think people would like to know his side of the story, since he introduced Trey and Holly."
"Let's wait. I want to see what kind of information you get on Holly first."
Andy wrote in his appointment book. "I'll see what I can find out."
"Great." Michael closed his eyes. He had been up since seven o'clock, which would have been like three o'clock in the morning for anyone else. His normal working hours were from four in the afternoon until two or three in the morning, but today he wanted to make sure he was awake and alert when Holly arrived at his house. So far, he had only managed to be awake.
Michael forced his eyes open and removed his feet from the table. "Okay, let's look at the sweeps week lineup." There wasn't any part of the production of his show that he didn't get involved with. It wasn't that he didn't trust the people doing the job, it was just in his nature to be a workaholic. The three Emmys on his bookshelf were a testament to his work. Also, he got bored doing the same thing.
Over the years, his show had changed its format at least four times so his audience never knew what to expect. Surprise guests ranged from Madonna to the President of the United States. The viewers loved it. His show was always rated number one in its time slot.
Michael and Andy were engrossed in their work when the doorbell rang. Michael looked at his watch. It was five to ten.
"Good morning, Mr. Williams," Holly said, her voice smooth with a slight southern accent. The khaki jumpsuit she wore clung to her small, pert breasts before draping down to her slim waist and long, long legs.
" 'Morning. Come on in." He stepped aside to let them enter before closing his front door. He wanted her. That hadn't changed in the twelve hours since he'd last seen her.
"This is my assistant, Andy Kurtz." Michael motioned to Andy, who rose from the large, overstuffed sofa and acknowledged her presence. "We'll be here in the living room, out of your way."
"Fine," Holly said.
Michael watched as Holly and Wanda walked down the hall and up the stairs. He still didn't understand what was so bad about the change in the floor plan, but it had given him another chance to have Holly in his house.
He rejoined the waiting Andy, who was polishing his already clean glasses with a white handkerchief. "I didn't make the connection between Holly Aimes and the company that put in your alarm system." Andy folded the handkerchief in a neat square before returning it to his pants pocket. "I'm surprised she came out here with the technician."
"I told her to take out the security system if they couldn't fix it. I guess she wanted to make sure the job was done right."
"Oh," Andy nodded his head. "Have you found out anything about her former fiancé?"
"No." Michael sat down on the sofa. "But I will."
A few minutes later, Andy closed his briefcase and stood. "I'll double-check everything when I get back to the studio." Andy paused when he heard someone walking down the stairs. When no one appeared in the living room, he said, "I'll also start looking for information on the other."
Michael nodded. He understood that Andy was referring to Holly Aimes. He followed his assistant to the front door. "I'll see you later, Andy." It was only ten-thirty in the morning, but the heat and humidity made it feel as if it were afternoon. He stepped back into his cool, air-conditioned home. He and Andy had accomplished more than he'd expected this morning, he thought, as he walked to his kitchen.
He paused when he saw Wanda standing in the utility area. He had forgotten that someone had come downstairs while he and Andy were talking.
"Hi," he said. "Is it all right if I get something to drink?"
"Oh, yeah. It's okay to move around the house. We've turned off the system until we add the other equipment." She continued to work on the metal box.
She looks like a pixie, he thought, grasping a can of soda from the refrigerator.
She caught him looking at her and gave a cautious smile.
"Will it bother you if I ask a question?" he asked, straddling a chair before he sat down.
"Uh, no."
"Why won't the alarm work the way it is?"
Wanda was silent for a few seconds. She continued to work on the box before speaking. "When you moved the wall back a foot, the motion detector at the end of the hall would pick up your movements when you entered your office. If the wall had remained where it was . . ." She paused when Holly walked into the room. "I was explaining to Mr. Williams why his alarm system didn't work."
"Please go ahead," Holly said.
Why do I feel like I've been called to the principal's office? Michael thought, glancing from one to the other.
"As I was saying, if the wall had remained where it was, it would have blocked the beam and the motion detector wouldn't have picked up your movements."
Embarrassed, he stared down at the can of soda. He hoped that he didn't look as uncomfortable as he felt. "What happened when the other technicians came over? Why didn't they find the problem?"
"If somebody looked at the floor plan, they probably didn't think to measure the walls to see if they were the right length," Wanda said. "They didn't have the correct information, so they looked for problems in the equipment and wiring, not structural problems."
He felt as if he had dug himself into a hole and couldn't get out. He sat in silence, searching for a way to backpedal.
"Wanda, I've put in the equipment upstairs. Are you finished down here?"
"Yep."
"I'll go back upstairs and test it."
Michael watched her walk out of the kitchen. Her jumpsuit couldn't hide the soft sway of her hips. He glanced down at the can of soda. "I guess I really messed up by not giving you guys the correct information."
"You sure did," she said.
A series of beeps came from the box where Wanda had been working. Seconds later, another beep sounded. Michael figured he should let her finish her work. He rose and walked out of the kitchen. He had done enough damage already.
"Well, that should take care of it, Mr. Williams," Holly said, as she walked into the living room.
"Listen, I apologize again for not letting your company know about the changes in the floor plan." He had managed to put both feet in his mouth and he hoped he could salvage the situation.
"Apology accepted," she said, though she didn't look like she accepted it. "We rewired
the hall and your office. Your system is working fine now. No problem."
"No. I should have asked the architect to call you and tell you about the room switch." Michael ran his hand over his hair. "Let me make it up to you and . . . ?" He turned to Wanda.
"Wanda. Wanda Johnson," she answered with a smile.
"Let me take you and Wanda to lunch. That'll be my way of apologizing."
"No, that won't be necessary. We're just doing our job," Holly said.
"You're not just doing your job. I've caused you unnecessary trips to my house and a long drive back to your office."
"We're accustomed to it. We do this for a living." Holly turned to Wanda and asked, "Are you ready?"
"The van's all packed up. Goodbye, Mr. Williams."
"Call me Mike, Wanda."
Wanda smiled shyly at him.
"Goodbye," Holly said, and walked out of the living room.
Michael escorted them to the front door. He watched as they climbed into their van.
"Now, let me get this straight." Pam leaned back in the chair and folded her arms across her chest. "Michael Williams, the Michael Williams, who has a top-rated talk show, asked you to go out to lunch with him?"
"Well, he actually invited Wanda and me to lunch." Holly flipped through the mail on her desk. Pam had come to her office within minutes after she had arrived back at the office. Holly had the feeling that Pam had asked the receptionist to keep an eye out for her return.
"And you said no."
"Yes," she said, placing the letter she'd been reading on her desk. Holly looked up at Pam. She had that "I smell something foul" look on her face.
"You're out of your mind." She looked up at the ceiling, her hands uplifted. "I work with a crazy woman," she said, as if she were speaking to the Almighty.
Holly squirmed in her chair when Pam stared at her incredulously. "Pam, please."
"Please. Now, there's a good word. Please, I would love to go out to lunch with you. Please, take me to lunch. Please, just take me." Pam shook her head. "You had the chance that hundreds, maybe thousands, of black women all over the United States would die, kill, give up chocolate for, and you turned him down?"
"He's a client." She picked up the letter she'd set aside earlier and began reading it, hoping that Pam would drop the subject. She didn't think Pam would take the hint, but she could always hope.
Pam plucked the letter out of her hands and slapped it on her desk. "We own the company, Holly. We can make up the rules as we go. If Blair Underwood was our client and he asked me to lunch ..." Pam stood up from the chair and put her hands on her hips. "Yes would be out of my mouth so fast, he wouldn't know what hit him."
"He's a client, that's all."
"That's not what Wanda said."
"Wanda?" Holly sat straighter in her chair.
"She said that he was very interested in you."
Holly rolled her eyes. "Wanda doesn't know what she's talking about. Mr. Williams was just happy to get his alarm system fixed. He was probably happy to get us out of his house."
"You think so?"
"Yes. Besides, the last thing I need is to have the press think I'm going out with another famous person. Trey Christian was enough for me. Remember him?"
"How could I forget?" Pam's voice rose an octave. "The man broke your heart, damn his hide. Then left you to deal with the press after he got married. We never had so many reporters come to the office." She sat again in the chair she had vacated and smiled. "Robyn made their life miserable when they walked in the door."
Holly smiled, remembering the competent way their receptionist, Robyn, had handled the press. Her smile slowly died as she also remembered the phone calls to her home and the television crews parked in front of the office. All of that publicity over a broken engagement. No . . . she wouldn't go through that again.
"I was really glad when he came back from his honeymoon. That got me off the hook for a while when the press went after him."
"Ha!"
Holly ignored Pam's sarcastic remark. "I couldn't begin to imagine what would happen if Michael Williams and I were seen together." She shuddered just thinking about it.
"I'd imagine he'd take you to a romantic dinner or a play."
"Reporters yelling questions, photographers taking pictures."
Pam scowled at her. "Afterward, he'd take you home, ask you for another date, and kiss you goodnight."
"Come back, Pam. Come back to reality."
"Are you telling me you didn't feel any sort of sexual attraction to Michael Williams?"
"No, I didn't," Holly said quickly, then remembered how she'd felt when she'd seen him standing in front of his house when they'd first met. The raw chemistry had been a little overwhelming. He'd made her feel sensual with just a glance. She'd just as soon keep that little tidbit of information to herself. Michael Williams was a client, and that was that.
"Oh, well. Maybe I'll get a chance to meet him." Pam said, watching her partner intently from beneath her lowered eyelids. "Who knows, maybe he'll ask me out."
"What happened to Steve? I thought you were dating him."
"Steve and I are just friends," Pam said.
"Holly?" Robyn, their receptionist, stood at the door holding a gift-wrapped box. "There's a package for you." She walked over and placed the box on the desk.
Holly studied it. "Did it have a note attached?"
"No." Robyn shrugged her shoulders. "This is the way it came."
"Hurry up and open the thing, Holly," Pam said, moving to the edge of her chair.
Holly tore the paper from the box and frowned in confusion at the FAO Schwartz name on the box inside. She lifted the top and two helium balloons floated to the ceiling. Holly smiled and lifted out a teddy bear with a sad expression on its face. A card was taped to its hand. I would be very sad if you didn't have lunch with me— Michael.
"Who's it from?" Pam asked, walking around to read the note.
Holly picked up the bear and gave Pam the note. Pam read it and put it down on the desk.
"He was so glad to get you out of the house, he sent you a teddy bear," Pam said, in a sickeningly sweet voice.
Holly stroked the soft fur of the stuffed animal. That was really nice, she thought. In all the time she had dated Trey, he'd never sent her a teddy bear. He had sent her the traditional red roses. In retrospect, she realized that Trey wasn't ever very original.
Get a grip, Holly. You just said that Michael Williams was off limits. She put the bear back into the box and closed the top over it.
"Don't tell me you're going to send it back."
"All right, I won't tell you."
"Holly, don't be stupid! The man is obviously interested in you. Why don't you take advantage of it?"
Holly looked at Robyn, who was trying to leave the room unnoticed. "Thanks for bringing me the box." She waited until the door to her office was closed before turning back to Pam.
"Back off, Pam."
"Back off. Back off. I backed off when you got engaged to that sleazy Trey Christian, and look what happened."
"I'm serious, Pam. Stay out of this."
They glared at each other until Pam looked away.
"Okay, Holly, have it your way."
Chapter 3
Holly dreaded going to her father's latest political campaign dinner-dance. She had attended so many that they all seemed the same. A boring meal of dry chicken and bland vegetables served on fine china, a mediocre band playing, and her father giving a speech. Money was never mentioned, but guests were always expected to make a contribution.
The same type of people always attended: people with power, like her father; people who wanted power, like his campaign manager; and people who wanted to be seen with the people with power— the political groupies.
Holly entered the lobby of the Doubleday Hotel. Her black evening gown was the latest gift that her stepmother had delivered to her office. Jean Aimes always called the gowns gifts, but Holly knew that this was
Jean's way of making sure Holly wasn't photographed wearing the same outfit too often. Holly could almost hear her say, "It would be bad for your father's image." She'd heard that phrase time and time again during her childhood and adolescence.
Holly entered an empty elevator and pressed the button to the lower lobby. Polished mirrors lined the elevator walls from floor to ceiling. She studied her image and carefully checked her appearance. The gown's scoop neckline accented her small breasts. If Pam wore this dress, she'd look elegant. I look like Olive Oyl, she thought. The black gown hugged her slim waist and curved hips without being obvious. The long skirt made her look taller. The memory of the quarter-page picture on the Atlanta Journal's society page with her dressed to the nines and her bra strap showing still embarrassed her. Not a bra strap in sight, she thought. She ran her hand over her hair. The trip to the hairdresser earlier this afternoon helped control her straightened bangs and blunt shoulder-length hair; otherwise the heat and humidity would have made her hair impossible to manage.
The doors of the elevators opened and she entered the lobby. Two women in tasteful evening gowns smiled at Holly as she walked past them. Her stepmother, Jean, would have stopped and talked to them because they were the wives of the mayor and the lieutenant governor, but Holly didn't want to talk to anyone tonight.
She was still upset about the argument she and Pam had had this afternoon. Over the years, they'd had disagreements, but none so disturbing as this one. Holly wasn't going to think about their argument tonight. There were only a few more appearances to make with her family before election day; then she wouldn't attend another event . . . ever. Instead of becoming accustomed to attending these events, as her stepmother Jean had suggested, Holly grew more uncomfortable in the public eye, until she couldn't stand the idea of going through another political campaign with her family.
She opened one of the curved double doors at the end of the lobby. The smell of expensive perfume blended with the smell of baked chicken in the adjoining dining hall. Her father and stepmother were mingling in the front of the room with the mayor and members of his staff. Holly walked through the maze of people wearing designer gowns and custom-made tuxedos.