Falling Star (48 page)

He's enjoying this
, she thought, and
her tension ratcheted up another notch.
What does he think he's
got?

"Besides," he continued, "you should be more
careful about lobbing around accusations of theft, given your own
client's penchant for criminal behavior. Though I gather
trespassing is her preferred transgression."

Natalie froze. To her right she heard Berta
snort. "What in the world are you jabbering about now?"

Wordlessly Johnny Bangs extracted a slim
document from his stack and tossed it across the glass table at
Berta. It slid to a stop right in front of her, like a ballplayer
sliding into base. At first Natalie could read none of the
typewritten script, but as Berta moved to page two, she saw beneath
the text two smudged fingerprints with her name and the date July
11 printed next to them. And beneath:
Los Angeles Police
Department
.

What is this about?
Natalie struggled
to remain calm, though her pulse was racing.
That's my booking
sheet from the day I got arrested for stalking Hope Dalmont. Why is
he bringing that up now?

Berta slapped the paper. "This is old news.
What's your point?"

An arrogant grin spread across Johnny Bangs's
face. He looked like a predator prolonging the kill for the sheer
enjoyment of his victim's panic. "Mr. Lambert's home was dusted for
fingerprints a few weeks back, after he returned from taping his
sitcom one evening to find evidence of a break-in."

"So his house got broken into. What does that
have to do with this proceeding?"

"Quite a bit, as it turns out." Bangs
continued smiling, all infuriating confidence. "You will recall, of
course, your client's history of hooliganism at my client's
property." He arched his brows. "The window-breaking episode, for
example?"

"Oh, please," Berta scoffed. "Any woman in
America would have done the same if she'd been similarly provoked.
The court of public opinion would applaud Ms. Daniels for far
worse."

Bangs shrugged. "Doubtful. But at any rate
Mr. Lambert knew immediately that it was Ms. Daniels who'd broken
into his home, for what purpose he couldn't fathom."

"What evidence could you possibly have to
back up this lunatic accusation?" Berta demanded.

Bangs let the silence grow before he leaned
back and casually clasped his hands in his lap. "First,
perfume."

"What?" Berta laughed. "Your evidence is
perfume?"

"It's a distinctive scent," he continued,
apparently unfazed. "Mr. Lambert smelled it for a dozen years. And
indeed, his initial suspicion was confirmed by Mr. Lambert's
handyman, a"—he glanced down at his documents—"Dale Tritt. He swore
in this deposition"—he held up a document—"that he recognized Ms.
Daniels from Channel 12 and that he left her alone in Mr. Lambert's
house while Mr. Lambert was at a taping. We dusted for prints and
found many that matched those of Ms. Daniels, which of course have
been on file with the LAPD since after her arrest." He arched his
brows again. "The Hope Dalmont episode?"

"Don't make it sound so incriminating,
Johnny," Berta said. "The fingerprints of all local newspeople are
on file with the LAPD. And if you care to recall the so-called
Dalmont episode in its entirety, you'll remember that not only did
Miss Dalmont
not
file charges against my client, she
selected her above all other journalists to conduct an exclusive
interview."

Natalie sat in frustrated silence listening
to Johnny Bangs's character assassination, restraining herself from
screaming out that she never would have gone into Miles's house in
the first place if he hadn't lied both about the prenup and his
sitcom deal and then cajoled the studio into withholding the
documents despite the subpoenas. And all in a greedy attempt to
wrest whatever financial gain he could from the ruins of their
marriage. Damn Miles and his attorney! And damn herself for handing
them ammunition. How stupid to wear perfume! But she hadn't thought
twice about it. And wasn't it just her luck that that one time
Miles turned out to be observant?

Natalie found Bangs's laser stare focused on
her. "Yes," he said, "we are all well aware of Ms. Daniels's
journalistic coup in Monaco. And that charges were never filed ...
in that case," he added.

The conference room grew silent, the only
sounds the hum of the air conditioner and the muted tones of
attorneys in adjacent offices.

This is it
, she thought, her mouth
dry.
He's about to play his trump card.

"What's your point?" Berta asked.

Bangs leaned back and clasped his hands in
his lap, taking his sweet, infuriating time. "I cannot imagine that
Ms. Daniels would like to have this latest break-in become public
knowledge," he said, as though that idea had just occurred to him
for the first time. "Particularly not at this sensitive juncture,
when she was just reinstated to the anchor desk. And is now in
negotiations to renew her contract. No doubt she strongly desires
the negotiations to proceed smoothly."

Natalie looked down at her lap while her
emotions were in a tumult. The threat was clear. Unless she caved
in and distributed to Miles half the remaining marital property,
Bangs would go to the press with the evidence of her break-in and
paint her with a brush so black she could well lose the anchor job
she'd just gotten back. Not to mention that BD might also withdraw
her KNBC offer.

She certainly was vulnerable in that regard.
It wasn't long ago that she'd gained notoriety for chasing Hope
Dalmont into the Millennium Club, and swearing on-air during her
earthquake remote. If there was yet another incident, who wouldn't
believe she was demented? The public, not to mention television
management, was only so tolerant.

Berta was silent, tapping her pen against the
glass table.
Tap, tap, tap.
Finally she shook her head.
"Johnny, I've always admired your chutzpah, and never more so than
today. What other attorney would turn the tables to accuse his
opponent of the very transgression his own client committed?" She
smiled sweetly. "But I'm afraid this time your strategy will
backfire."

Natalie watched as her attorney pulled from
her sheaf of papers copies of the Heartbeat Studios contract and
check stubs and handed them to Miles and Johnny Bangs. Natalie
watched the men closely. Bangs retained his composure but Miles's
face grew ashen.

Berta's tone was wry. "Mr. Lambert, I see you
recognize these documents."

"Why haven't I seen these before today?"
Johnny Bangs demanded. "Why were these not provided to me by the
discovery closure date?"

"Didn't we include these in the packet of
materials?" Berta asked mildly. "Oh, dear." She waved a dismissive
hand. "It must've been an oversight."

Natalie had to restrain herself from
chuckling. For all Miles and Johnny Bangs knew, Berta had gotten
the documents from Heartbeat Studios in response to her repeated
subpoenas. They had no way of knowing otherwise without indicating
that they had maneuvered to have the studio withhold exactly this
paperwork. And now they could no longer pretend that Miles had
deferred his compensation.

"The point is," Berta said, "that I believe
we have grounds for a compromise."

Johnny Bangs was silent for a beat. Then,
"I'm listening," he said. Natalie noted with some satisfaction that
he'd lost no small degree of his earlier bravado.

"If indeed there were no prenuptial
agreement," Berta declared, "Mr. Lambert would be required as part
of the divorce settlement to give Ms. Daniels one half of this fee,
i.e., one point five million dollars. He would receive from Ms.
Daniels one half of the remaining marital property, or six hundred
thousand dollars. In short, he would suffer a net loss of nine
hundred thousand dollars.

"However," she continued, "if we did the same
calculation according to the terms specified in the misplaced
prenup, Mr. Lambert would receive nothing from Ms. Daniels. He
would, though, retain his entire studio fee of three million
dollars."

Johnny Bangs shook his head. "Why would your
client agree to this? That would put her out nine hundred grand as
well."

Berta leaned forward. "Because unlike your
client, Counselor, Ms. Daniels will abide by the terms of the
prenup that she knows exists. Despite the financial cost. In
addition, and here I quote, 'I don't want any of Miles's stinking
money.' End-quote."

Natalie watched the color return to her
husband's face. Now he looked as if he could barely keep himself
from gleefully bounding out of his chair. She didn't allow herself
more than a cursory glance at Berta, for fear that if she met her
attorney's eyes she'd jump up and scream,
We're winning! We're
winning! They're falling into our trap!

Johnny Bangs cleared his throat. "Allow me to
confer with my client." The men put their heads together and began
murmuring. Natalie nearly burst with impatience. Finally Bangs
raised his head and met Berta's eyes. "I'd say we have a deal."

Berta whipped out several copies of a
one-page document. "I've taken the liberty of drafting an agreement
to that effect." She handed it around. "Look it over."

Johnny Bangs's eyebrows arched. "You want us
to sign it today?"

Berta shrugged. "Why not?"

Bangs grabbed the document, only a few
paragraphs long. Again he conferred with Miles, who nodded, then
attempted unsuccessfully to hide a smirk.

You idiot
, Natalie thought.
You're
so damn full of yourself you can't even tell we've got you by the
short hairs.

"We're willing to sign this," Bangs declared
a few minutes later. He handed Miles a thick MontBlanc pen from his
briefcase.

Natalie watched her soon-to-be ex sign with a
flourish.

Berta nodded and held out her hand to her
fellow attorney, who shook it quickly before the men strutted out
of Dewey, Climer's sunny penthouse conference room.

"Don't let your plumage get caught in the
doors," Natalie remarked dryly, still watching them through the
glass conference-room wall.

Berta laughed. "You feeling rich yet?''

Natalie thought for a moment. "Not rich.
Exonerated." Then she threw back her head and laughed. "Free as a
bird!"

Berta grinned. "When do you think Miles will
understand that he'll never get the rest of that studio fee?"

Natalie shook her head. She knew that Jerry
Cohen had filed a grievance with the Writers Guild; she had no idea
how long the process would take. To her knowledge, as yet Miles
didn't know that his plagiarism had been uncovered.

But soon he would; soon everybody would,
including his employers at Heartbeat Studios.

"We'll hear the explosion when he finds out,
Berta." Natalie smiled. "They'll probably hear it all the way in
New York."

*

Kelly sat cross-legged on her yellow suede
sofa, still the lone piece of furniture in her living room, staring
at her TV and watching other people do the news.
Still
Tony
was mad at her, even though she'd sent big bouquets of red roses to
both him and Rico, with long apology notes attached. That was two
days ago and she hadn't heard anything yet. But on some level she
wasn't really surprised. Men liked to make women wait to show how
powerful they were. It was pathetic, really, because they always
came around in the end.

The doorbell rang. She padded over and pulled
open the door and said, "Yeah?" before she focused on who it was.
Then she had to start over. "Tony!" she chirped. "What a pleasant
surprise!"

"Yeah, right. Move over, I'm coming in." He
barreled past her into the foyer.

It sure didn't seem as if he'd accepted her
apology. "Would you care for something to drink?" she offered,
trailing after him into her living room.

"I'm not here on some damn social call,
Kelly." He turned around and stared at her and she got another
shock, because he had an expression on his face she'd never seen
before. "I only want one thing from you and that's an explanation,"
he said, and then he reached inside his jacket pocket and whipped
out a videotape—
the CNN shootout tape!
—and Kelly thought she
was gonna croak right then and there. But she couldn't, 'cause she
had to save her ass.

Her brain cranked into high gear. "I know it
looks pretty bad when you first see it." She tried to sound
contrite. "But I gotta tell you, Tony, you wouldn't think it was so
bad if you'd actually been there. Videotapes lie, you know."

"They don't lie, Kelly. They're the only
thing in a goddamn TV newsroom that tells the truth."

"But the tape makes it look like I had
something to do with that kid getting shot and I didn't!" She
started pacing the nearly empty room, like a lawyer arguing in
front of the jury. "He would've gotten shot anyhow. The gunman was
nuts and somebody was gonna get hurt."

"It had gone on for fifteen hours already and
he hadn't shot anybody. Not until you spooked him with that goddamn
flashlight!"

"So maybe I hurried it up a little." She kept
her voice reasonable. "But it was still gonna happen—I know
that."

"You don't know a damn thing, Kelly! You
don't know a goddamn thing!" Now Tony was shouting at her, as loud
as she'd ever heard him. And his face was all red as if he was
gonna have a heart attack. It reminded her of Miles that time she'd
told him she wasn't gonna give him his loan money back.

Maybe I should do now what I did then
,
she thought. She eyed Tony across her living room.
Wait it out.
Just let him get it out of his system.

In fact, right then he tuckered out. He shook
his head and seemed to shrink, walking away with his head down,
staring at the hardwood floor. "It's my own damn fault," he
mumbled, so quiet she could barely hear him. "I should've fired you
long ago."