Falling Star (24 page)

He moved aside the filmy white drapery and
peered out the rain-streaked window, where London, gray and damp in
weak afternoon light, bustled three floors below. His heart ached
for her. It was so unfair, so idiotic of Scoppio. He would come to
rue the decision, Geoff was sure. And the ironic, painful twist was
that Scoppio had acted on the heels of Natalie's triumph with Hope
Dalmont. What a cruel, crazy business.

His hand dropped uselessly to his side. What
would he have done a few weeks ago? Would he have flown to Monaco?
It seemed his relationship with Natalie broke down into Before and
After. Would he have waited until they'd both gotten back to Los
Angeles? He didn't want to act differently than he would have
Before.

Tentatively he reached for the bedside
phone.

*

It was 24 hours later when Natalie and Ruth
heard the knock on the door of their Hotel de Paris suite. Both
were exhausted from working round the clock; both were dressed in
the hotel's fleecy white robes and sitting at a small round
linen-draped table with the dirty plates from their room-service
lunch arrayed around them.

"Do you want to get it or should I?" Ruth
asked.

The knock was repeated, louder this time.

"I'll get it." Natalie rose, her body aching.
"It's probably room service wanting to clean up."

"I'll tell you, room service here is faster
than a Catholic girl on prom night." Ruth pushed back a strand of
errant hair that had escaped from her nest of pink rollers. Her
black-rimmed half glasses drooped down her nose, her eyes tired and
makeup cakey behind the thick lenses.

Natalie forced herself toward the door. She
knew she didn't look one whit better than Ruth did. In fact she
looked worse, given the juniper-berry sauce from the
Cotes de
Porc Marinees
she'd spilled down the front of her robe. She
gave her sash a quick tightening tug and pulled open the door. "My
God!" There stood the last person in the world she'd expected to
see in Monaco. Or wanted to see, for that matter.

"I have a way of surprising you, don't I,
Natalie?" Geoff smiled. His hazel eyes ran down the robe to her
bare feet, then swiftly back up to her face. "And of catching you
when you're not properly dressed."

She stared at him, not sure whether to be
pleased or worried by his sudden appearance.
What's he doing
here?
Her heart leaped.
To apologize? To start over?
"I'm sorry. I'm forgetting myself." She stepped back and waved him
inside. "Please come in. I'm so surprised to see you." She felt
awkward. "Ruth and I are just finishing lunch."

He brushed past her, his brows arched in
surprise. "You're eating room service on your last day in
Monaco?"

"We still have editing to do this afternoon.
Plus we're both zonked from filing a million reports."

He nodded. Then his eyes cut sharply
away.

Something clanged in her consciousness, like
a note strangely out of tune. Slowly she shut the door. No, he
hadn't come to start over, some instinct told her. The distance
between them was still there, almost tangible, like a NO
TRESPASSING sign slung around his neck.

Ruth rose from the table, a linen napkin
clutched in one hand and bafflement on her face. Natalie swiftly
made introductions.

Geoff stooped to set his briefcase on the
pure white carpet, then turned to face Natalie.

She analyzed his face and began to feel truly
frightened. He didn't look like himself. He looked like an
exhausted, pained version of the Geoff Marner she knew. "What have
you come all the way from Los Angeles to tell me? What is it?"

"I was in London, actually." He took her
elbow and tried to lead her to the couch.

She refused to budge.
Why does he look so
uncomfortable? What did he come to tell me?
Instinctively her
hand rose to her throat. Ruth moved behind her, rubbing her hand
soothingly down Natalie's back.

"Please," Geoff said. "Sit down."

This time, with Ruth's help, he did get her
to sit. She perched stiffly on the sofa's silken cushions, Ruth
beside her. "What is it?" She felt a catch in her throat. "Scoppio
did something?"

He met her gaze. The pain she'd glimpsed in
his eyes before now took solid shape. "Yes."

She took a deep breath. "Did he fire me?" Her
voice shook. "Is that it? He fired me?"

"No, he didn't fire you." Geoff sighed and
looked down at his clasped hands. "He demoted you."

"Demoted her?" Ruth repeated. "What the hell
are you talking about?"

"Natalie, he's making you a reporter." He
glanced at Ruth. "Believe it or not, he's moving Kelly Devlin to
the anchor desk in Natalie's place."

"Kelly Devlin!" Ruth hollered. "How in hell
could he replace Natalie with that birdbrained pinup?" Ruth leaped
to her feet and began storming back and forth across the pristine
white carpet.

Natalie remained still on the couch. She was
surprised how little she felt. Sad, mostly. Drained. Her brain
struggled to life, dully at first, then in fits and starts. "Is
this just another step in trying to get rid of me? He thinks I'll
be so disgusted I'll quit?"

Geoff paused. "Possibly. Though I'm sure he
wants to keep you, but in a radically reduced role." He looked at
her. "And when your contract comes up he'll want you at a radically
reduced salary."

Of course. While he acceded to a radically
higher salary for the woman who replaced her. "When did you hear
about this?"

"My secretary forwarded the fax to me. He
sent it Friday. I got him on the phone this morning but couldn't
budge him."

Scoppio had issued the directive Friday. The
day she'd interviewed Hope. Natalie shut her eyes. How ironic was
that. He'd demoted her on the very day she believed her career was
shifting into its highest gear. She threw up her hands. "But can he
do this? Doesn't my contract specify that I anchor the prime-time
news?"

Geoff shook his head. "Your contract leaves
him enough wriggle room to use you in other capacities. 'From time
to time,' it says, you can be required to do a range of other
things, including report."

"But why now? The ratings are up!"

"Natalie." He rose and stood at the balcony
doors, facing the pastel hulk of the Palais Princier. "He says that
it was while you were reporting that the newscast got over a
five."

Ruth guffawed loudly. Natalie processed that
final twist in silence. Then a thought occurred to her. "I could
refuse to do it."

"You could." Geoff returned to the sofa.
"Though in that case KXLA wouldn't have to pay you, because you'd
be violating the terms of your contract."

"But they do have to pay me at my current
salary even though I'm reporting and not anchoring?"

"For the duration of this contract, yes."

Natalie tried to take it in.
He has to pay
me my full salary through October fourth. But if I refuse to
report, he doesn't have to pay me. And gets me gone entirely
.
For the first time, she realized how fragile was the foundation on
which her life was built. How one brick, suddenly removed, could
topple the entire edifice.

And her television career was more than one
brick. It was her entire life. She had nothing else.

She looked at Geoff and again saw the
invisible barrier between them. She was alone. She had no one but
herself to depend on. "That's it, then," she murmured. "It's over."
The words hung in the air.

Geoff stared at her for a moment. "No, it's
not over." His features set. "First, there's no reason to believe
this switch is permanent. Scoppio's experimenting, I guarantee you.
Second, I'll fly to Phoenix to meet with Rhett Pemberley. I may be
able to talk some sense into him. And there's the obvious other
option.'' He paused. "We get you another offer, in or out of LA.
Thanks to all this"—he waved his arm expansively—"you're a hotter
property than ever. I'm confident that at this point we can line
you up elsewhere." He paused. "It's not over. We'll fight it."

She nodded, unable to take heart from his
bravado. The reality that she'd lost the job she'd loved for
fourteen years bobbed stubbornly on the surface of her brain, like
trash dumped on ocean water.
That's it, then. Everything I've
struggled for. Gone.

"We'll fight it, Natalie," she heard Geoff
repeat. But by then she'd risen and walked away and closeted
herself inside her room. Alone, as ever.

Wednesday, July 24, 11:08 AM

Tony leaned back in his chair, cradling the
phone in his hand, flushed with the pleasure of one of his favorite
pastimes. Contract negotiations. It was like a miniwar, every time.
Made him feel like Caesar, one of the all-time best wops. He liked
every single step: masterminding his battle plan, seeking out his
opponent's weakness, then using it to drive the poor schmuck into
submission. May the biggest prick win. And that meant him, every
time.

He forced himself to focus on the monologue
his current windbag of an adversary was delivering. "—unreasonable
to come in below the compensation your morning anchor is now
receiving."

Rico Jimenez paused and Tony knew it was for
dramatic effect. Tony could just picture him in his Manhattan
office, sitting in his thousand-dollar Italian suit eyeing his
fingernails, which Tony heard he actually had manicured. The guy
was like a spic George Hamilton. Funny how anchors and their agents
were like dogs and their masters: after a while they started to
look the same. And no question this guy was a lot like Kelly:
fast-talking, good-looking, and on his way up.

"Look, Rico," Tony said, "I gave you a number
and both you and I know your client should be happy with it. Shit,
a hundred twenty-five grand a year is nothing to sneeze at."

"But she's making seventy-five now as a
reporter. She should be making a lot more if she's going to be
anchoring prime time."

"She should be
grateful
she's going to
be anchoring prime time." Tony paused. This was his turn for
dramatic effect. "Not greedy."

Jimenez sighed, as if he was dealing with a
skinflint. Tony snorted softly. Who else was gonna slide this guy's
untested 24-year-old client into an anchor slot? In LA no less,
where anchor jobs were as hard to come by as ice storms. And sure
the ratings were popping now, but that was no guarantee they'd pop
forever.

Tony had already planned for that. The
negotiation and all the paperwork would take a good month. He'd see
how Kelly did during that time. How the ratings did. Until he
signed the contract, he could always back out. And if Kelly did
good, then he'd lock her in at a salary he could live with.

Tony cleared his throat. He was in the
driver's seat on this one. He knew it. Jimenez knew it. The only
question was whether Kelly would know it. "That's the deal. One
twenty-five the first year, one thirty-five the second, one fifty
the third."

"One fifty, one seventy-five, two
hundred."

Tony consulted the legal pad on which he'd
jotted down what he'd known in advance would be the final figures.
"One thirty, one forty-five, one sixty. That's it."

He leaned back, grinning. And when Princess's
contract came up in a few months he could cut her salary big-time,
since she'd be reporting and not anchoring. Or get rid of her
entirely. Either way he'd bring down his talent payroll so much
that good old Rhett Pemberley would have to cut his bonus check.
Tony would have Anna-Maria in a Caddy by the time they drove down
to San Diego for vacation.

Jimenez sighed again, as if he was badly
wounded that this was the best Tony could do. "Well, I'll run these
past her. But Tony, you're getting her for a song. Kelly has real
star—"

"Save it." He was getting irritated now. A
song? How many songs cost a hundred thirty grand a year? "Plus I
want you to tell her she's gotta be more careful with what she says
and does. She's an anchor now."

"I understand."

"And even though she's an anchor, I'm not
going to have her sitting around on her duff." Tony wasn't going to
repeat that mistake. "She's going to have to go out and report once
she gets settled at the anchor desk."

"Sure, sure." Jimenez was quiet for a while.
When he started up again he sounded wheedly.

Tony relaxed. Fine. They were into the
flattery phase.

"Tony," came the guy's insinuating voice, "I
have a suggestion to sweeten the pot for Kelly."

Right. That pot needed sweetening like his
Norma Lucia's cannoli. "What is it?"

"We've talked in the past about Kelly hosting
an hour-long prime-time special. Now's the perfect time. It'll
launch her formally into the anchor job, bring in some nice
publicity." He paused and Tony cocked his ear. Jimenez wanted
something more. No, Kelly wanted something more and Jimenez was her
mouthpiece. "We could offer it to Sunshine's sister stations."

So that was it. Kelly wanted prime-time
exposure in the six other cities where Sunshine Broadcasting owned
stations. So the minx had national ambitions.

Tony quashed his mild annoyance. Well,
airtime was the name of the game—they all knew that. And it wasn't
really such a bad idea. Especially since it wouldn't cost him
anything.

"Maybe we could do something playing off that
school gunman shootout," Jimenez suggested. "You know, how
dangerous it is for kids these days, something like that."

Tony arched his brows, jotting "Kids in
Danger" on his legal pad. Not a bad idea from old Rico. He could
imagine the opening now, Kelly in that leather jacket of hers doing
a stand-up by a wall loaded with graffiti.

"I'll think about it," he told him.

*

Languorously Kelly raised her left arm in the
air, lilac-scented bath bubbles slithering down her skin like sea
foam retreating on smooth white sand. This was another good thing
about anchoring prime time: she could take baths in Miles's Jacuzzi
during the day. She cocked her head to better admire her arm's
slimness and ponder her agent's plea.