Falling Star (36 page)

"It's Berta. Bad news."

Natalie sank into her desk chair, propping up
her forehead with her hand. "Just what I need. What now?"

"Johnny Bangs is trying to get a discovery
closure date."

She shook her head. "What in the world is
that?"

"A date to end the discovery process, such
that all relevant information must be available to both parties by
that time."

Natalie frowned, her mind working. "Meaning
if we don't get our hands on Miles's sitcom contract by then—"

"The fee is out of the picture. We can't go
for it as part of the marital property. Exactly."

"What date does Bangs want for this discovery
closure?"

"September sixth. A week from Friday. He and
I go into court to slug it out tomorrow."

"Any chance it won't happen?"

"Not much. I'll put up a fight, but I can't
tell you it looks good." Natalie heard Berta flip through some
papers. "Tomorrow's also the deadline for the second subpoena on
Heartbeat Studios. Let's see what they send us this time."

"This is unbelievable."

"But not over. I'll keep you posted." Berta
hung up.

Natalie was pensive as she replaced the
receiver. As quickly as she set it down, she picked it up again,
first calling Burbank Directory Assistance, then a series of
numbers at Heartbeat Studios.

"Production offices," a young man
answered.

"For
Forget Maui
?"

The guy grunted a bored affirmative.

"Great. What night is the show taped,
please?"

"Thursday, 6:30 PM."

"And how long does the taping last?"

"Two to five hours. You wanna be in the
audience?" The guy was starting to sound impatient. "I can put you
in touch with the outfit that handles that."

"So there'll be a taping this Thursday, the
twenty-ninth?"

"No, the next one's September fifth."

Her heart dropped. "What? Not till then?"

"Can't wait, huh?" The guy laughed.

"Thank you." Natalie hung up.

September fifth. Miles would
have
to
be out of his house for the taping of his own show. That gave her
one chance to carry out her plan. And one chance only.

*

Tony was proud of himself for putting on such
a confident show while Princess was in his office. He should win a
Best Actor Oscar. Because the reality was for from encouraging.

He had Kelly making cockamamie remarks on
air. His ratings were in the dumper. The news department budget was
still in the red. And thanks to all of the above, Rhett Pemberley
had Tony's bonus check wedged in his pocket tighter than a C-note
in a hooker's fist.

Pemberley was really pissing him off.
Questioning his judgment left, right, and center. He was supposed
to be such a hands-off manager. What was so goddamn hands-off about
flying into town and watching the newscast from the control booth?
Not a damn thing.

Tony cringed, remembering what had popped out
of Kelly's mouth on Friday's newscast.
Those people better get
out of that building fast or they're gonna be toast. These huge
fires are always breaking out at residential hotels. It's like how
tornadoes always hit trailer parks.

What was it? Did she just say whatever came
into her head at any given moment? He understood that ad-lib
situations gave talent almost no cushion between brain and mouth.
But still, they had to show some judgment. That was why they got
paid the big bucks.

He leaned forward and buzzed Maxine. "Get
that coach guy on the phone," he ordered her. "That one from Jersey
you hire to come out to the station. Feinstein, Feingold,
Feinman—you know who I mean." Maxine would sniff the guy out. The
old broad could've been a PI if she hadn't drowned in the
secretarial pool first.

He slapped his desk. It'd be worth ten grand
or so to get Kelly up to snuff. Despite all her mistakes, he wasn't
ready to give up on her yet. Everybody would think he was a fool if
he changed course midstream. And besides, maybe in Hollywood stars
were born and not made. But not in TV news.

*

"Bring the loan document with you when you
come over," Miles instructed Kelly over the phone.

She stood at the bar that separated her
minuscule kitchen from the rest of her apartment and rolled her
eyes in disgust.

"You have signed it, right?" he went on.

"Doesn't your sitcom go on the air in like a
few weeks?" Kelly said. "Don't you have better things to worry
about than whether or not I signed your goddamn loan document?"

He got all apologetic then, as if he was
afraid that otherwise he might not get laid later. "Baby, it's a
lotta money, that's all."

"I thought to Big Sitcom Producer Miles
Lambert it wasn't!"

"Well, not as much as to most people, but
still."

Arrogant turd. "Fine, I'll bring it with me,"
she snarled, then punctuated her point by slamming down the phone.
Jesus.

But not even Miles was making her as mad
these days as Scoppio. Coaching! He'd told her she needed coaching!
All because of some realistic observations she'd made Friday night
on the air.

Kelly stalked to the fridge and grabbed
herself a Gatorade, surveying the damage wreaked that afternoon by
the movers from Starving Students, who were so expensive no way
they could be starving. But she wouldn't pack herself. It wasn't
what anchorwomen did. They hired people and didn't care how much it
cost.

Though, Kelly had to admit,
she
kind
of cared. Because she was still living on her diddly-squat salary
of 75 grand a year and wouldn't get a dime more until she inked
Scoppio's contract. Which she wouldn't do until he hiked the
offer.

Kelly made her way among the boxes to her
bedroom, deciding suddenly not to give Miles his stupid document.
He was pissing her off.

She'd just stuffed it in a drawer when she
noticed a blinking red light on her answering machine. It was
probably her real-estate agent. Since escrow on the Bel Air house
was almost closed, she was messaging Kelly constantly detailing
every phase of the operation. She pressed the mailbox button and a
woman with a heavy Brooklyn accent started speaking.

"Kelly, this is Hard Line. We still haven't
gotten the release from the Mann family to air your spot. That's
slated to go right after Labor Day so please fax the release to
212-555-..."

Kelly pressed STOP and stared at the machine,
a chill of both excitement and anxiety rippling along her spine.
Her first national appearance! And just after she moved into Bel
Air. Things were going right big-time.

But she didn't have the release and would
never have it. What if
Hard Line
wouldn't run her piece
unless they got it? She couldn't let that happen.

Kelly grabbed a slip of paper and jotted down
Hard Line
's fax number. Tomorrow from KXLA she'd fax them a
letter saying she'd put the release in snail mail. That should
pacify them. Hell, maybe they'd even forget about it.

She deleted the message and slung the strap
of her overnight bag over her shoulder. It wouldn't be long before
she got used to playing on the edge. Then she'd really be in the
big time.

*

Natalie pulled a steaming hot Lean Cuisine
from her microwave and tossed it on the trivet she'd set on the
granite kitchen counter. Off came the plastic wrap to reveal the
puny serving of Chicken Piccata Stouffer's apparently considered an
adult portion. No wonder it packed a grand total of two hundred
eighty calories: it was an hors d'oeuvre posing as an entree.

She poured a glass of chardonnay and carried
both to the study, setting them beside the computer. Eyes glued to
the screen, she sipped her wine and began to surf the web in
earnest.

Very interesting. It was exactly as Brad
Fenton from MetroSeek had described. There wasn't a single site
that provided substantial local news coverage from a variety of
sources. Absently she stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork.
Maybe that was because it was a lousy business idea. Or maybe it
was because the right person to start the business hadn't come
along yet.

Am I the right person?
Part of her
couldn't believe she was even asking that question. What did she
know but television news? Nothing. What other field had she ever
worked in? None. And her insight into the web was pitiful, though
it was greater than two weeks ago, thanks to all the surfing she'd
done and questions she'd asked.

But
, her internal devil's advocate
demanded,
what did Evie know about writing for a newspaper
before she started?
To which Natalie had an instant answer.
Nothing, but it didn't much matter. Reporting for a newspaper
isn't fundamentally different from reporting for television. But
running a web business has nothing to do with anchoring the
news.

Her doorbell rang. She threw down her fork.
Who could it be at 9:45 on a Tuesday night? She stepped to the door
and pulled open the tiny window grate at eye level. Then her heart
skittered to a place it hadn't traveled in some time. "Geoff."

He laughed lightly. "I've done it again,
haven't I? Shown up when I'm least expected."

"You do have a way of surprising me. Hold on
a second." She shut the grate and tore off her headband, plumping
her matted-down hair while examining her cotton pajamas for food
stains.
I look like hell. And I haven't seen him since that damn
engagement party.
A pang shot through her.
Remember that?
He's engaged. This is business.
She gathered herself and pulled
open the door. "Sorry I'm not dressed."

"I'm the one who should apologize, showing up
this late without warning." He swept past her into the foyer,
bringing with him a waft of cool night air. "But I'm just back from
New York and got your messages."

"Yes, of course. I didn't realize you were
out of town." She closed the door behind him.
Why did he come
all the way over? He could've called.
"I wanted to tell you
about the contract offer I got from Tony."

"I've seen it." He stood across from her in
the foyer, carrying a briefcase and wearing both a trench coat and
a trace of five o'clock shadow. "What do you think?"

"Please sit down." She motioned him into the
living room and bustled about turning on lamps. "Well, I hate the
idea of having to keep working for Tony and getting paid less for
it. And of course with zero hope of getting back on the anchor
desk. But I suppose since I don't have any other option I have to
take it seriously."

He linked his hands and studied them. "I
think we should regard Scoppio's offer as a fallback. We're only
now getting into the hot time, the last month before your contract
expires. On October fourth, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, now the real opportunities will pop
up." He reached inside his briefcase and extracted a sheet of
paper. "Till now I've focused on the top twenty markets but it's
time to cast the net wider. I've taken the liberty of drafting a
list of smaller markets you might consider." He held it out to
her.

She took it.
Have we ever been this formal
with one another?
She cleared her throat, quickly scanning the
neat column. "St. Louis. San Antonio. New Orleans. I probably could
get excited about Baltimore."

He nodded. "I'll start making phone calls.
And RTNDA is coming up in a few weeks. That's always a plum hunting
ground."

The annual confab of radio and TV news
directors. A must-show for agents, especially those hawking
hard-to-place clients.

All at once Natalie felt exhausted. Talk
about an uphill battle. Starting over, in a new city, where she
knew no one and no one knew her.
But it's worth it, right? For
an anchor job?
It had to be. Her ruminations were interrupted
by the undeniable sound of a stomach growling. Not her own. She
chuckled. "Hungry?"

Geoff looked abashed. "There was some foul-up
with the ovens on the plane, so I ended up not eating."

"Let me get you something." She rose. "Are
you willing to eat a Lean Cuisine? It's all I've got in the
house."

"At this point even female diet food sounds
appetizing." He shed his trench coat and followed her to the
kitchen, where she selected two meals and popped both in the
microwave.

She held up a bottle of wine.
"Chardonnay?"

"Please."

She poured two glasses and Geoff perched atop
a stool at the kitchen bar, accepting one.

"May I tell you my crazy idea?" The moment
the words slipped out she regretted them. Geoff would think that
her launching a web business was idiotic. Not to mention that he
had a vested interest in her continuing on-air. And that she had a
vested interest in his aggressively seeking an anchor post for her,
which he might not do if he judged her not fully committed.

"Shoot." His hazel eyes fixed on her
expectantly.

But there seemed no way out of it now. "Well,
a few weeks ago I did a story about a web business called
MetroSeek."

"I've used the site."

"Really? Well, the CEO got me thinking about
a potential local-news web site. One he thought was promising." She
stopped. So far Geoff's expression remained unchanged, which
emboldened her. "Specifically," she went on, "a local-news portal
for the LA market. So people here in town could watch local TV news
on their computer. In a box in the corner of their computer
screen."

The microwave pinged. Geoff rose and helped
Natalie serve the double dose of Lean Cuisines, then returned to
the stool. "This isn't being done yet?"

"Individual stations are doing it on their
own sites but there's no one portal that accesses material from
various sources. So there's an opportunity for someone to be first.
And even if competing sites pop up, well, CBS and NBC and ABC and
Fox manage to coexist."