Falling Star (35 page)

She opened her eyes.
He's right. So what
does that say about me?

Her gaze fell upon the phone, then the big
white-faced kitchen clock: 9:37.
I should tell Geoff about
this
. But at this hour on a Friday night he was unlikely to be
in his office.

Of course he won't be in his office, you
fool. He'll be out to dinner, or at home. Or away. With Janet,
whatever he's doing.

She remained leaning against the counter, so
spent that trudging upstairs and washing off her makeup seemed
unbelievably daunting. Around her the big Mediterranean-style house
was silent, as it ever was these days, save for the relentless
ticking of the kitchen clock.
Time. I have so little time.
Her contract expired in exactly six weeks and the only option she
had was to keep slaving away for Tony Scoppio.

Slowly, methodically, she did what she had
done so many times before, when she was low, when she wanted to
feel better, when she needed reassurance that her life meant
something to someone, somewhere. She walked to the study and pulled
open the double closet doors. Then she knelt and overturned the
nearest box to dump its contents on the worn Oriental carpet. Out
poured letters, in all shapes and sizes, many tattered and yellow
from age and handling. But to Natalie that rendered them no less
precious.

*

"Rhett, you want coffee or anything?" Tony
watched the master of his universe claim a prime seat in the
control booth, just behind the director. Coincidentally, the same
seat that Tony picked when he watched the show from the booth.

"Thank you, no. I'm just fine." Rhett smiled
his Pepsodent smile and crossed his ankle over his knee in a
maneuver that Tony's fat legs couldn't manage in a hundred years.
It irritated him that even at ten at night Rhett Pemberley looked
as fresh as a daisy. He even smelled good. He had his thick white
hair all slicked back; a striped shirt that looked like it didn't
even know how to wrinkle; tan slacks with a perfect crease; and a
navy blue jacket in some expensive-looking material. The guy looked
as if he could go straight from the control booth to a yacht
party.

Tony was forced to set up a metal folding
chair in the back of the booth, because what with Ruth, the
director, the technical director, the graphics operator, the chyron
operator, and Pemberley, they had a full house. He stared at the
bank of monitors that dominated the front wall, the three in the
center corresponding to the studio cameras. A huge red digital
clock read out the time: 09:58:28. One minute to air and no Kelly
Devlin on set.

Jesus Christ. Maybe he'd been wrong not to
warn her.

At 09:59:34 she raced on set. Tony cast a
sidelong glance at Pemberley, who was frowning. At least Kelly
looked good. She was wearing white, which normally in TV was a
no-no because of the glare, but it did look sharp against the dark
backdrop they used for
The KXLA Primetime News
. Not to
mention that it made a good contrast to her dark hair and eyes and,
he had to admit, heavy makeup.

10:00:00. The prime-time news music started,
over video of the California State Assembly. Kelly began her
voice-over.

"In Sacramento, the governor squares off
against legislatures, saying it's their job as elected officials to
enact his vision into law."

Tony cringed.
Legislators
, not
legislatures
.

The video wiped to a wide shot of chanting
protestors and Ken spoke. "In Riverside County, citizens band
together to block a development that would wipe out a beloved
old-town shopping area."

Then back to Kelly, over dramatic nighttime
shuttle launch video. Tony held his breath. "And NASA sets a
precedent as
Columbia
roars into space with a woman as
commanding officer."

No more mistakes. Good.

The news music swelled, the director cut to a
wide shot, and Tony glanced at Pemberley, who was staring fixedly
at the monitors. And who had a frown plastered on his tanned
face.

Bad.

Tony looked away. Had Kelly read the script
in advance? Ruth told him she usually didn't but he hadn't believed
her. What anchor would do a cold read if they didn't have to? He
shuddered. Only a careless anchor. Or an ignorant one.

*

At 10:47:37 the very thing Tony most feared,
happened.

Ruth slammed down the phone and turned to the
director. Her voice rang out across the booth. "I told ENG Truck 2
to get the bird up. They ran into a mongo apartment fire. I want it
live. No reporter, so we'll have the anchors voice it. And we might
want to stay on past eleven." Then she grabbed the producer's mike
to relay the latest to Ken and Kelly on the set.

Shit.
Tony closed his eyes, but not
before he saw Pemberley lean forward, as if now he was getting
excited. Great. Perfect timing. A breaking story, with Kelly Devlin
on the anchor desk.

And the man who had to sign Tony's bonus
check watching from the booth.

Tony bit at what remained of his nails. So
far Kelly's performance had been weak but not catastrophic. He'd
counted six mistakes. But that number could easily balloon if she
had to ad-lib.

It was then that the ENG truck got the bird
up. One monitor suddenly filled with spectacular images of a fire,
flames shooting out the windows of a beat-up brick building that
looked to be about ten stories. People actually hanging out of
windows screaming. Meanwhile, live on KXLA's air, the director cut
to a medium shot of both anchors. Ken spoke first.

"We're going live right now to the scene of a
devastating fire in Riverside County, near the 60/215 interchange,
in the vicinity of Moreno Valley," he said. The director brought
the live shot full screen, just at the highly dramatic moment when
fire trucks roared up, sirens blaring.

"Wow, that is terrific video," Kelly
said.

Tony cringed. Geoff Marner's prediction
rattled across his brain.
You'd better hope we don't have
another earthquake, Scoppio. Because if we do, you'll have to rely
on Kelly Devlin . . . In thirty seconds you'll be wishing you had
Natalie back.

Ten, actually. But he hated when other people
were right, especially tall, rich, good-looking people.

Ken kept up a running commentary about the
fire, and was handling himself well, Tony thought, especially since
this was the toughest live assignment of all: wall-to-wall coverage
with no info. No story had hit the wires; no reporter was on the
scene. Anchors were forced to wing it with nothing more to go on
than the pictures and their own experience.

"Those people better get out of that building
fast," Kelly said, "or they're gonna be toast."

Pemberley stood up. "What in the world kind
of comment is that?"

Oh, God. Tony stayed paralyzed in the folding
chair, his mind whirling.
Should I get her off the air?
How?

Ken jumped in, but not before every KXLA
viewer saw him shoot his coanchor a shocked look. "Riverside County
Fire Department personnel have arrived on the scene," he jabbered,
"deploying fire hoses to fight this blaze. Now we are told the
structure is a residential hotel."

"Oh,
that
explains it," Kelly said,
and Tony shut his eyes. "These huge fires are always breaking out
at residential hotels. It's like how tornadoes always hit trailer
parks."

"What?" Pemberley roared.

That's it.
"Cut to commercial!" Tony
stood and yelled the order at Ruth.

She turned around real slow and stared at
him. He didn't know what he saw in those pale blue eyes of hers but
he knew he didn't like it.

"Cut to commercial!" he yelled again, when
still she did nothing.

"We can't cut to commercial in the middle of
this," Ruth declared calmly. Tony could have wrung her neck. "This
is a fantastic story and we're the only crew there."

Insubordinate bitch. And goddamn if she
wasn't enjoying every second of this. Tony was acutely aware of
every pair of eyes in the booth, Rhett Pemberley's included,
watching his every move. "Cut to commercial," he repeated. His eyes
didn't waver from Ruth's. "Now."

She shrugged and slowly turned around to pull
the producer's mike to her mouth. "Ken and Kelly," she said in as
casual a voice as he had ever heard, "we need you to go to
commercial ASAP. Don't say we're coming back to the fire."

Tony could see on the monitors that both
anchors looked stunned, Ken especially. But Tony didn't give a good
goddamn what anybody thought, anybody except the one person who now
approached him across the booth with measured steps.

"I hope you know what you're doing,"
Pemberley muttered under his breath, his face inches from Tony's,
"because right now I've really got to wonder."

Monday, August 26, 9:20 AM

Natalie sat at her KXLA desk, reading for the
umpteenth time the contract offer Tony had FedExed to her house on
Friday. It was no more attractive now than it had been on first
perusal. Over the weekend she'd left Geoff four messages on his
cell phone, never getting a response. Was she going to wait till
her agent surfaced from God knew where to confront Tony?

It took her a minute flat to get to his
office, a second more to get as deflated as a pizza box run over by
a Mack truck. He wasn't there.

She walked in anyway, shaking her head in
disgust at the newspapers, videotapes, magazines, manila folders,
boxes, crumbs, and wrappers in which the man habitually wallowed.
Two half-empty Styrofoam cups of coffee enjoyed pride of place next
to his IN box, both with dribble marks that ended in staining brown
puddles on his desk blotter. During Scoppio's tenure, KXLA's news
director's office was less a bastion of journalistic enterprise
than a pigpen.

She glanced in his IN box and her interest
piqued. Right on top, plain as day, the Nielsen overnights. She
hadn't seen those in ages. For some reason Maxine had stopped
posting them on the newsroom notice board. Not even Ruth knew what
The KXLA Primetime News
ratings had been lately.

Natalie glanced out Tony's newsroom windows
to make sure nobody was looking before she swiped the single
typewritten sheet and expertly scanned its neat columns.
The
KXLA Primetime News
: 4.6. She smiled. And KYYR's
News at
10
? 5.0. So. With Kelly at the helm, the newscast was back
below a 5.0 rating. She laughed out loud.

"Enjoying yourself, Daniels?"

"I'm having a grand old time," she told Tony
in her sweetest voice. Without missing a beat she laid the
overnights back in his IN box. "It's such a joy knowing you can no
longer blame me for the ratings."

He guffawed noisily but she could tell she'd
hit home.

"I got your contract offer," she went on. Her
tone hardened. "I cannot believe you seriously expect me to accept
it."

"You're free to go elsewhere." He plodded
behind his desk and sat down, his chair squealing in protest of his
weight.

"I certainly will if the best you can do is
an 80 percent pay cut."

He shrugged, his beady brown eyes
glittering.

So smug, so self-assured.
So confident I
won't get a better deal.

"Ever heard of market forces?" he inquired
casually.

"Your point is?"

"This offer reflects what I judge to be your
current price in the marketplace." He leaned forward and set his
elbows on his desk blotter, dangerously close to the coffee
puddles. Unfortunately not close enough. "I'm willing to pay that.
But no more."

"In that case you'd better start screening
those tapes." She cocked her head at a teetering stack of resume
reels rising halfway to the ceiling. "You're going to need some new
talent. Who can report and anchor and ad-lib on demand. In other
words, prepare to lose me."

"Right." He laughed. "To WITW New York?"

Momentarily she was stunned into silence. How
had he found out about
that
? Or maybe she'd been naive to
think he wouldn't. TV news was a very, very small world. And talent
auditioning in another newsroom, particularly one that shared the
same corporate parent, ran the distinct risk of being recognized.
And ratted on. "I would think you'd be delighted if I went
elsewhere," she managed. "Given how poor my judgment is and how
soft I've gotten."

"Well, Daniels, all I can say is that my diet
and exercise regimen has put you back in fighting trim." He lolled
back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. Huge sweat
stains marred the armpits of his yellow button-down shirt. "Now I
think you're worth keeping."

"As a reporter. Even though the ratings are
hardly on the rise with Kelly on the anchor desk."

"Give it time. They will be."

She shook her head. He was so damn cocky. And
the galling reality was, she couldn't fight him. Not unless she was
willing to go elsewhere. "Consider this fair warning. Unless you
improve this offer, be prepared for me to walk."

He laughed. "I learned long ago to be
prepared for every eventuality, Daniels. However unlikely." He
leaned forward to consult his calendar. "Even you getting another
offer. That fancy agent of yours still has, what, five or so weeks
to line something else up."

"What makes you so sure he won't?"

Tony just shrugged, though his eyes shone
with an odd triumphant light. Then his intercom buzzed. "Your wife
on line one," Marine rasped. Tony looked up at her. "Gotta take
this."

Natalie nodded and walked out, her blood
boiling as ever after an encounter with Tony Scoppio, though this
one had been particularly bizarre. What made him so supremely
confident she wouldn't get another offer? Was it crystal clear to
everyone but her that she was no longer marketable as anchor
talent? She entered her office to find her phone ringing. "Natalie
Daniels," she answered.