by Holly Jacobs
"Riley, I might have been out of my mind with the pain, but I wasn't so out of it I didn't recognize you. You're a hero."
"Stop saying that. I'm no one's hero and I'm not doing the interview. I don't perform in front of cameras."
"Erie's tough columnist, Riley Calhoon, has performance anxiety? Maybe you're afraid of freezing in front of the camera? Don't worry, we won't do the interview live. We'll tape it, and I swear if you sound stupid or freeze up, I'll edit that part out. See, no worries!"
"I have never had performance anxiety in my life. I can always perform. You can ask anyone."
"Well, if you're not afraid, do you mind telling me why you won't do an interview?"
"Because. . ."
"Because?" she prompted gently.
"Because I don't want to. And don't think you can just do a report on that alleged taxi ride. You can't prove it was me. So if you get on the air and try to tell anyone about it, I'll sue you for slander."
He'd worked hard to build a name for himself. Tough. Opinionated. Always ready for a fight. Those were terms people associated with Riley Calhoon and his Get Real column.
White knight wasn't one of them, and if he had his way, it never would be. Being seen as a hero wouldn't be good for his acerbic, hard-hitting image.
And being a hero to Erie's Pollyanna reporter would just add insult to injury.
No way was he going to let this happen.
"You can't sue me for slander for telling the truth and saying nice things about you."
"Since I'm not nice, saying I am would be slander and I won't take it. I don't want to see a word about this on your news. Do you understand?''
"I won't breathe a word about it without your permission. It might not be station policy, but it's mine. Plus, you did save my life, so I guess I owe you that much. But I am going to do everything I can to change your mind and have you agree to an interview. It would be good for both of us."
"I won't change my mind."
"That's what Donny McMann said in fifth grade when I said I wanted him to be the first boy to kiss me. But within a week he'd changed his mind, and I had my first kiss in the coat closet on a rainy Monday morning. Of course, I had to pay him a dollar, but it was worth it."
"You had to pay a boy to kiss you?" Riley asked, despite himself. He wished he could suck the question back in because he was sure she'd feel as if she had to answer. And he wasn't disappointed.
Paige smiled, seemingly lost in the past, and said, "Well, Donny was the cutest boy in the whole fifth grade, and could have kissed any of the girls. So it was money well spent. Not that I have to pay for kisses now. I mean, it's not that I do all that much kissing, but what I do is free and easy. Not that I'm free and easy. That's not what I mean, I—"
"Paige, thank you for the history lesson, but it doesn't alter the fact that I'm not changing my mind. I'm no hero. I didn't save your life, and I'm not doing the interview."
"Okay." Paige rose and Riley breathed a sigh of relief, glad she was leaving before any disaster could strike. She took two steps and turned. "Oh, and Riley, I wanted to thank you for the daisies. They're my favorite flowers, you know."
"I didn't send—"
She cut him off. "Okay, you didn't send them. But thanks anyway." She turned back and almost tripped over a waiter, but skittered out of the way before they actually connected.
She laughed and said, "Look. We've had our second date and no one got injured. Maybe we broke our bad-luck streak?"
She gave another wave and left the deli.
Broke their bad-luck streak?
Somehow Riley didn't believe that. Just like he didn't believe he'd seen the last of Paige. She'd given up almost too easily.
He looked at the sub that had tasted so good before Paige, the walking disaster, had sat at his table.
Hero?
He was no one's hero. He was a hard-bitten, cynical newspaper columnist.
"Is something wrong with your sub?" the waitress asked.
"I've lost my taste for it."
"If there's something wrong with it, I can take it back and get you another one."
"Yes, there's something wrong."
The waitress just stood, waiting expectantly, a worried expression on her face.
Riley sighed. It wasn't her fault. "There was nothing wrong with the food or the service. I. . ." He paused and the waitress waited, expectantly. "I have to go."
"But you only took a couple bites. Do you want me to wrap it up for you?"
"If I wanted you to, I'd ask. But I don't. I'm done."
"I'll get your check," she said. It wasn't what she'd said but the look in her eyes that made Riley feel like a heel. He'd been abrupt with her when Paige was here, and now he'd been even more abrupt.
He slid a hefty tip under his plate. It wasn't that he felt guilty for his curtness—he lived to make people annoyed—it was just that making ends meet on a waitress's salary must be tough.
He took the bill from her and paid it at the register.
He wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but he was nervous because he was pretty sure he hadn't seen the last of Paige Montgomery. She had hinted as much.
What did she have up her sleeve?
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Paige tugged at her sleeve as she scanned the crowd. Her cameraman, Kip, was setting up in the corner and all she had to do was wait. She generally hated covering news stories and preferred to stay with human-interest stories. But she wasn't here for just the press conference.
No. She had bigger fish to fry.
And speaking of fish, there he was. Like a large trout waiting to gobble up her bait.
She angled over his way.
He was arguing in hushed tones with the man next to him. ". . .and it doesn't take an accountant to see the benefits to the public."
With a throw of his hands, the man said, "There's no arguing with you, Calhoon," and stalked away.
Paige felt a spurt of sympathy for the stranger. She didn't even need to know what they were talking about to know that Riley had annoyed the man. Not that that was unusual. Riley annoyed everyone.
"Psst," she said from behind him.
He turned. "Oh, it's you."
"Yes. Glad to see you, too. Just wanted to check and see if you'd changed your mind about that interview."
"No," he flatly responded.
The mayor's assistant came to the microphone. "I'd like to welcome everyone here today. . ."
Since the assistant wasn't the story, she continued in a hushed whisper, "That was an awful quick answer there, Calhoon. Are you sure you don't want to think about doing the interview? It could be great promotion for your paper and for your column."
"There's nothing to think about. No." He paused a moment and then added in an equally quiet voice, "And what are you doing here?"
"Covering the mayor's press conference."
"Why? I thought you only covered the nice news?"
"Well, the mayor is nice, and rumor has it his news is as well, so here I am."
Paige didn't tell him that she'd begged Stephanie, her assignment editor, for the story. Or that Steph had been as surprised by her request as Riley obviously was. The look he shot her said he wasn't buying her story. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that he would decide to do the interview.
She wasn't sure why it was so important to her that she tell the world there was more to Riley Calhoon than his columns indicated, that beneath the cynic, there beat the heart of a hero. Annoying, maybe. But a hero.
"It's a free country, Calhoon. I can cover any story I want."
"You know, I haven't seen you in six months, and suddenly I see you twice in two days? That's a bit of a coincidence, isn't it?"
"Is it?" she asked sweetly.
"You're not following me in some misguided hope I'll change my mind, are you? Because I won't."
". . .and here's Mayor Aggers," the mayoral assistant said.
Riley pulled out his notebook and pen, poised to take
notes about the press conference.
Paige stayed where she was. The cameraman would film the announcement, and then film her doing a little sound bite when it was finished. She'd spend her afternoon editing the piece.
"Well," Paige said, "in order to change your mind you'd have to have one, so let's just say I'm not overly hopeful, but I am persistent."
Riley stopped fiddling with his notebook and shot her a stern look. "That wasn't a very Pollyanna-ish comment. I thought you lived in Polly World, a place where rose-colored hues were the only colors permitted. That crack about my being brainless wasn't very rosy. You made a crack at lunch yesterday, too. What would your viewers say if they knew you weren't as sweet as they thought?"
"Let's just say that you bring out the worst in me. Even my rose-colored, Polly World view of things dims when you're around. And if my viewers knew you, they'd understand completely," she said with a small smile.
"I bring out the worst in everyone, but I thought not even I could change your view."
"Oh, you haven't. It's only my view of you that's not so rosy."
"I thought you said I was a hero," he said.
"You are. But you're stubborn, opinionated and annoying, too. And wrong."
". . .and it's time to address what's wrong with downtown. . ." the mayor said.
"Wrong?" Riley whispered to Paige.
"This interview would be good for you," she pressed quietly, "good for your career."
"I make my living as a columnist and reporter. How could being seen as a—" He stopped short and frowned, as if whatever he'd been about to say left a bad taste in his mouth.
"White knight. . .hero?" Paige filled in the words Riley was obviously hesitant to use.
"Neither. I'm not either. That's my point. Your saying I am wouldn't be good for anything but a laugh. Though I'm afraid the laugh would be at my expense, so I pass," he hissed.
". . .and I think you'll all agree that this project is worth the expense and will forward our efforts to revitalize the downtown area. I'll take questions now."
Riley stared at the podium. "Questions?" He turned to Paige. "It's over? How can the mayor be done speaking? I missed it because of your incessant chatter. You did that on purpose. You distracted me so that I missed what he said, and now I can't even ask a question."
"The mayor said that the city is going to receive that big state grant for revitalizing Parade Street. They plan on bringing it back to its old glory."
Riley scribbled notes and then looked up at her. "How do you know? You were busy arguing with me."
"I don't argue. You argue. I'm just sort of the wall you toss your shots at. They tend to bounce back at you without my even trying. That's not arguing, that's volleying. And I heard what he said because I'm a woman. We multitask. It all comes from being genetically programmed as the foragers and gatherers. We're forced to concentrate on many things at once. Men are genetically predisposed to be the hunters. They concentrate on one thing and blot out everything else. I'm flattered you chose to focus on me and not the mayor."
"I didn't choose that," he said quickly. Maybe too quickly.
Maybe she was getting to him? The thought made Paige grin. "Of course you chose to, or else you would have heard the mayor's announcement. And you're still so focused on me that you missed Marcy, from WJTC, ask how the money was going to be allotted, and the mayor saying he was forming a committee, and then Martin, from your paper, asking if the mayor really thought we needed another committee."
Riley again scribbled wildly, then glared at Paige. "You think you've proved something?"
"I think I just stopped by to see if you'd changed your mind, and you started fighting, which is what you do best. And can I ask why you're here if Martin is covering this for your paper?"
"I'm not writing the article, I'm writing a commentary in my column and wanted to hear the speech myself."
"But you didn't hear it, did you?" she asked as sweetly as she could.
"Because of you."
"Hey, don't blame me. Now that you've given me your answer, I'll just go catch up with my cameraman and get some footage of me here, then head back to the studio to edit the piece. Great seeing you, Riley. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon."
"It's no use," he said. "I won't do the interview."
"Okay," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Whatever you say."
Paige raised her hand. Mayor Aggers pointed in her direction. "Paige?"
Riley glared in her direction, which for some perverse reason, made Paige want to smile. But as she was noticing Riley's annoyance, she was already formulating a question for the mayor.
Chalk another one up for multitasking females.
"Assuming this economic windfall does breathe new life into Parade Street, what sort of impact do you see it having on the downtown district?"
"I think innovative ideas like the Parade Street project, or the new conference center and the rebirth of the Boston Store, are what the downtown. . ."
"YOU HAVE AN INNOVATIVE IDEA? You mean, more innovative than traipsing around town in your disguises?" Stephanie asked Paige that same afternoon.
Stephanie Cooper had been assignment editor at WMAC for almost a year now. She’d joined the staff just after Paul Hartly, the news director, had. It had been their combined effort that changed the direction of the station's news programs. Oh, they presented the headlines, both local and national, but the station really worked to present a show that appealed to women.
The new, gentler news had pushed the station's ratings up three points all ready. Steph's willingness to let her staff have freedom in their reports had made her a popular boss.
Paige was counting on that freedom to pursue this new series.
She leaned forward in her seat and propped her arms on Steph's desk. "Well, maybe not as innovative as my disguises. But new. I want to do a weeklong series on heroes. If it goes well, I thought we could make it a weekly segment."
Steph tilted back in her chair. "This is about Riley Calhoon, isn't it?"
"No," Paige denied, and then felt a stab of guilt because that was a lie.
It was about Riley. She wasn't sure why doing this interview was so important to her. Maybe it was just gratitude? Letting the world know that he was a hero was a great way to thank him for saving her life. But that explanation didn't ring quite true and she didn't feel inclined to delve for a deeper reason.
"I thought Riley said if you told about this incident, he'd sue," Stephanie pointed out.
"I won't say his name. Not even once." Paige made a little cross-your-heart gesture. "I won't even mention him obliquely, like 'the cabbie who saved my life.' No, I won't mention him at all."
"And you're sure that this has nothing to do with the fact he dated and dumped you all in one evening?"
"He didn't dump me. I have no idea where that nasty rumor got started. In actuality, I realized that we were a horrible match and have never figured out why my Aunt Annabelle thought we'd get along. He sees the glass as half-empty and—"
"And our resident Pollyanna Paige sees it as half-full," Stephanie finished for her with a small chuckle.
"Right. And even someone as optimistic as I am couldn't see any point in going out with Riley Calhoon again. End of story. And speaking of stories, I'm almost insulted that you would think I'd use my job—a job I take tremendous pride in—to get even with a man you think dumped me."
Stephanie massaged her temples and Paige felt a momentary stab of sympathy for her boss.
"Do you want some aspirin?" she asked.
"No. I'm fine. And you don't have time to play my nurse. You have some fieldwork to do for our 'Erie's Heroes' pieces."
"Thanks, Steph. You won't regret your decision." Rather than sprinting from Stephanie's office, Paige opened her huge purse and dug around for a moment. She set a bottle of aspirin on the desk.
"Indulge me, take something for that headache," she said before she left.
She was grinning like som
e crazed lunatic by the time she was a few steps down the hall.
Riley accused her of not reporting real news? Well, his rescue was real, at least to her. And Paige was about to show him what a real reporter she was. She was going to do this series on heroes, and eventually she'd do Riley's story.
And like any good reporter, she was going to begin with some research, and Paige had the perfect source.
3
ANNABELLE MYERS WAS the undisputed queen of the retirement community, at least in her mind. Actually, Paige's great-aunt thought she was pretty much the queen wherever she went, and acted accordingly. Maybe it came from being one of the first female news anchors in Erie. Or maybe that type of confidence was simply bred within her. Either way, the small gray-haired woman was center stage wherever she was.
It was Aunt Annabelle who had inspired Paige to pursue a career in journalism.
Paige found her dealing cards in the west solarium the next day. Her smile lit up the room as Paige walked in.
"Aunt Annabelle. Ladies," Paige said by way of a greeting to the entire group.
"Okay, everyone, get. Take your chips, and we'll finish the poker game tonight. And Ruth," Aunt Annabelle said to the woman seated next to her, "don't you dare add your personal chips to that pile. I know, chip for chip, what you've won in this game."
"Annabelle," the elderly woman gasped, "you know I'd never—"
"Not if you think you'll be caught you wouldn't cheat. So I'm just letting you know you'll be caught."
Ruth and three other women gathered up their chips and walked away, Ruth still muttering about her innocence.
"She cheats terribly," Annabelle said. "And you know what I always say?"
Paige kissed her aunt's wrinkled cheek and took the seat the poor wanna-be-cheater Ruth had just vacated. "You always say, if you're going to cheat, don't get caught."
"And she's terrible enough at it to get caught every time. No sense of imagination there. Now, when I cheat, no one is ever the wiser. But I don't think you're here to talk about cards, or cheating."
Annabelle studied Paige a minute and said, "Okay, spit it out. You look like you're ready to burst. So what did you do now?"
Paige tried to look innocent. "I don't know what you mean."
