Hot Spot

by Debbi Rawlins

  He stayed silent a long time, probably wondering why she hadn’t shown them to him. They were good. Just not great. “Why didn’t the ones you showed me make the cut?” he asked.

  She looked sharply at him. “You have to ask?”

  He exhaled loudly and scrubbed at his face. “Use them, Madison. I don’t care.”

  But he did. She knew it. Just like she’d known he’d be hitting the road.

  “DO I GET A PREVIEW?” Talia asked Madison, looking at her over black-rimmed glasses.

  She’d just walked into the editor’s office. “May I take my coat off first?”

  “You’re not wearing one, although I can’t fathom why. It’s forty-eight degrees out there.”

  “I can’t afford one. You guys don’t pay me enough.”

  “Don’t look at me.” Talia took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. “They don’t pay me enough, either. Let’s see the pictures.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest?” Madison kept a straight face.

  “Don’t be a twit. You know I’m not one of the judges.” She held out her hand. “Let’s see.”

  Madison set down the flat leather portfolio. Talia’s eagerness surprised her. So did her presence, for that matter. Madison had really hoped to use her office in private. “I thought you had a meeting.”

  “It was pushed back to three-thirty.” Talia frowned. “Are you trying to avoid me?”

  “No, of course not. I just haven’t decided on my final submission.”

  “The deadline is day after tomorrow.”

  “Gee, I didn’t know that. Thanks.”

  Talia frowned and stiffened defensively. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Madison sank into a chair, so tired she could hardly stand. “I’m sorry. I am really, really sorry. You of all people don’t deserve my sarcasm.”

  Talia’s expression softened. “Apology accepted. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.” She knew. Too well. After all that hype, all that boasting about how the cover would be hers, she knew she’d failed. Not exactly failed. She actually had dozens of great shots that would have the judging staff drooling for a week. They wouldn’t even be able to choose which one to put on the cover. But she couldn’t use them.

  And then there was Jack himself. And the huge question that had loomed over them the past three nights. He hadn’t pushed for an answer and she hadn’t volunteered one.

  “Guess I’m just tired,” she told Talia, who continued to watch her with a puzzled frown.

  “Well, show me the photographs. I’ll tell you how fabulous they are. How you’re going to wipe the floor with the other submissions. That’ll make you feel better.”

  “Right.” Madison wanted to cry. She brought out the photos, but could barely look at Talia while she examined them. It was too painful to see the disappointment that was surely on her face.

  17

  JACK CHECKED HIS hair and teeth a final and unnecessary time before leaving his dressing room. This was just another interview, he reminded himself. No reason for the suddenly dry mouth as if he were a nervous rookie reporter.

  For God’s sake, he’d interviewed two presidential candidates, the president, the first lady, prime ministers, countless heads of states, in fact. Important people who had something significant to say. Madam Zora’s interview was for entertainment purposes. Nothing more.

  The stage had already been set, and thankfully the interview wouldn’t begin live. They’d be introduced off camera and in place before the cameras started rolling, almost as if they’d been caught in midinterview.

  He liked getting there before his guest arrived, but as soon as he got to the set he saw that she had already settled into the guest’s chair, her large black satiny form seeming to absorb everything in the room.

  It was an odd kind of energy he’d felt once before on an assignment in Haiti. A self-proclaimed medicine woman had practically stalked him, forewarning of bandits and ambushes. Frankly, she’d scared the hell out of him. Especially since one of her predictions had been on target and had forced them to turn around. Although in the area he’d been traveling, any warning wasn’t a far stretch.

  Madam Zora smiled up at him as he approached, her dark eyes warm and kind, and quite astonishingly, immediately put him at ease. Gleaming gold hoops weighed down her fleshy earlobes but that was the extent of her jewelry. She extended a bare well-manicured hand to him.

  “Mr. Logan, I am honored.”

  “It’s Jack.” Their palms met and his tingled. A kind of prickly feeling you got after being shocked. He barely stopped himself from jerking back his hand. “Thank you for coming,” he said, slowly releasing her and then claiming the seat across from her.

  Behind them one of the producers gave direction to a stagehand while Sally from makeup hovered off to the side, but Madam Zora’s gaze stayed eerily on Jack. Never wavering, not so much as a blink.

  “Would you like some water or coffee?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Beverages have already been offered.”

  “Good.” He glanced at the cue clock, and then at the stagehand, signaling for water. He rarely needed to keep a cup handy, but he had a feeling today he might need it. “We’ll be going on the air in three minutes. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”

  Her smile showed off perfectly even white teeth. “You already know about me.”

  “Of course I read the bio you provided—”

  She started slowly shaking her head, a knowing smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. “We have a mutual acquaintance.”

  Madison. He didn’t say anything at first. Only stared. Hoping she’d elaborate. Hoping she wouldn’t. “I don’t think so.”

  Madam Zora laughed softly. “She would not appreciate your denial. She is highly spirited, that one.”

  Jack drew in a breath. Of course the woman knew nothing about Madison. She could be talking about anyone. He knew lots of women. She was guessing. The comment was broad enough.

  He gave her a smile he hoped didn’t come off as patronizing. “How about you fill me in on how you became the popular Madam Zora?”

  Her eyebrows went up. “I am here to talk about you. Not me.”

  He chuckled. “No, as a matter of fact, you’re—” He stopped when he saw the gleam of determination in her eyes. This wasn’t good. They needed a postponement. Needed time to set her straight. He waved for the stagehand, but Mike pointed to the cue clock. Twenty seconds and they’d be on the air.

  She leaned forward with great effort to reach his hand, and then patted it, soothingly, bestowing that calm he’d felt upon first meeting her. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “It will be good. It will all be good.”

  Jack froze. He almost missed his cue a second before they went live. He straightened, so did Madam Zora. Silently clearing his throat, he smiled. The one the public expected. Even though his insides were jumping.

  “Today we have with us Madam Zora.” He looked from the camera to her. “Some people refer to you as the psychic to the stars. Does that bother you?”

  She settled back in her chair, her black satin caftan making her seem to blend into the background. “I see things others don’t. So they call me a psychic.”

  “When did you discover you had this gift?”

  She smiled. “You are not a believer.”

  Damn. This was not supposed to happen. He was gonna kill his producer. “Actually, I haven’t given the matter much thought.”

  “Ah, then perhaps I should convince you?”

  He forced a smile. “I think I like asking the questions better.”

  “Yes, you do. And you will ask many. Important ones. All around the world.” Madam Zora smiled kindly. “And she will be there with you, by your side.”

  Jack lost it. For the first time in his career, he was rendered speechless. He gave the signal to cut. And that’s the last thing he remembered.

  STILL REELING FROM his disa
strous interview with Madam Zora, Jack sat in his office away from the morning crew’s curious looks. Everyone probably thought he’d gone off the deep end. He wasn’t sure he hadn’t. The woman had gotten so damn close to the truth. How could she have known about Madison? About his decision to leave the show? It was crazy.

  Jack leaned back in his chair and stared at his desk, littered with e-mails, reports from the news desk, faxes, some of his own research for tomorrow’s show. On his walls were pictures of him and three different presidents, him sparring with his coanchor, Andrea Scott, whom he’d always called Andy, and an assortment of photos from the field.

  On his credenza behind him stood one of his Emmys and a parade of mementos given to him by several world leaders.

  Outside his office, his staff rushed around trying to keep abreast of a breaking news story, a groundbreaking story that could reverse legislation on assisted suicide for the terminally ill.

  If he said he wouldn’t miss all this, he’d be a liar. There was comfort and a sense of community in being in the middle of this maelstrom. And undeniable safety. His ratings were outstanding, which gave him power and security and allowed him to call most of the shots. Unfortunately, the one that mattered the most to him was the deal breaker.

  He’d know for sure by the end of the week, but he hadn’t fooled himself. What good was a morning anchor who wouldn’t be here forty percent of the time? He understood their position. But this was his life. He had one shot at living it the way he wanted to.

  He’d even prepared his speech for Lana and Andy and his personal staff. They’d be shocked, horrified, disappointed. Hopefully, they’d also understand.

  Madison was his biggest concern. That one night that had changed everything between them. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. They’d spent nearly every night together since, the sex was fantastic, the familiarity that was growing even better, but she’d never talked about his proposal. When he brought it up, her foolish optimism that the network would cave in alarmed him. Her avoidance spoke volumes. What he couldn’t figure out was whether she simply didn’t want to leave New York or she thought she had a better future sticking with celebrity pictures.

  Maybe she was just plain scared. One thing for certain was that she didn’t appreciate her extraordinary talent. Following that logic, she probably doubted she could make it in a new area. Probably hadn’t helped that he implied she’d make it on his coattails. He was wrong to have put it that way. He’d only wanted to offer her security while she got her feet wet.

  If she got the cover, that could change everything. Problem was, she’d finally shown him the photos she’d selected to submit. They were good. Damn good. But he doubted any of them would end up on the cover. But he knew of one for certain that would.

  He unlocked the second drawer where he kept personal items, and withdrew the set of photos she’d given him from her private stock. He looked at each of them, flinching twice at the intensely raw emotion she’d captured, particularly in one.

  Damn, it was a dicey move.

  She needed that cover. It would bring her the confidence she needed to follow him. He took a deep breath. Or it could just as easily send her in another direction. Either way, she deserved the cover.

  He picked up the phone and called for his driver.

  The ride over to the offices of Today’s Man was short. He should’ve taken a cab. The job’s perks, which he’d taken for granted and would admittedly miss, made him shake his head at himself. Gave him a shot of that damn uncertainty that occasionally plagued him.

  He ignored it. He was human. Misgivings were inevitable. But deep down he knew he was right to quit. Knew he was right in what he was about to do.

  With the envelope of photographs tucked firmly under his arm, he stopped at the receptionist’s desk, asked for directions to Talia’s office and went to her door. It was open. She looked up and peered at him over black-rimmed glasses, her red lips forming a surprised O.

  “Talia?”

  She nodded, her eyes widening comically behind the thick glasses.

  “I’m Jack Logan, a friend of Madison’s, and I have a big favor to ask you,” he said, and closed the door behind him.

  MADISON HAD SMOKED one cigarette in her entire life. At sixteen. It had been awful. She had hated the taste, hated the smoke floating up to her face and making her eyes water. So why did she have the sudden urge to light up now?

  Maybe a candy bar would calm her nerves? She fumbled inside her camera bag, until she gave up and dumped the contents out on the corner of Talia’s desk.

  The editor looked up from the article she was reviewing. “Gee, be my guest.”

  “Sorry.” She found two mini-Butterfingers and offered one to Talia, who shook her head. Madison unwrapped one and stuffed it into her mouth, her gaze going to her watch. “They know I’m in here, right? They won’t be calling my apartment. Of course they do have my cell number, too.”

  As if anyone would be calling her.

  Madison closed her eyes. Why was she doing this to herself? The reason Gloria hadn’t called was because Madison hadn’t gotten the cover. She hadn’t believed she would. Not really. But there’d been the tiniest seed of hope….

  “Relax, damn it. You’re making me nervous.” Talia took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, carefully, presumably so she wouldn’t get all that black stuff she wore smudged. “You’ll get the call. You’ve got the cover. It’s a no-brainer.”

  Madison opened her eyes and stared suspiciously at Talia. She’d seen the photographs Madison had submitted, and although her reaction had been favorable, she hadn’t exactly been blown away. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “Me?” She blinked and then put her glasses back on and said blandly, “Sure,” before promptly returning her attention to the article.

  Madison slumped in her chair. She wished Jack were here. Better yet, she wished she were with him at his apartment. Snuggling together on the couch in front of the massive television that actually lowered from a nook in the ceiling with the touch of a single button.

  She felt incredibly at home there. In just two short weeks she’d come to know his housekeeper, his driver, even the doorman. They were all great. They even helped run interference with the paparazzi vultures that sometimes camped outside his building.

  She vaguely knew a couple of them, and never being without her camera bag, she got a kick out of the fact that they thought she was there for the same reason—to get an incriminating picture of Jack. Not someone they’d love to catch in the act.

  At the same time it really bothered her to be associated with those bottom-feeders, with their unscrupulous methods and unrelenting determination to capture stars in the worst possible light. Granted, the press and media probably considered her only a couple of steps above the paparazzi. There was little prestige in being a celebrity photographer, unless you were at the very top, like Scavullo or Annie Leibovitz, but at least it was honest work.

  She couldn’t help but think about Jack’s offer, though, to get involved with serious, mainstream journalism. Not that she thought anything would come of it. It was just a fantasy she indulged in when she was stuck taking pictures of squirming kids. The network wouldn’t let him go. Not with his popularity being at its peak. They’d compromise.

  Probably not entirely to Jack’s liking, but he could be persuaded. He loved his creature comforts, like getting reservations whenever he wanted, enjoyed the power of his position at the network.

  The phone rang and she nearly fell out of the chair. So startled she couldn’t immediately figure out which phone it was. It was Talia’s. Her editor answered it and then, grinning, held the phone out to Madison.

  “I GOT IT,” she said as soon as Jack answered his phone.

  “Congratulations, baby.” Of course, he knew exactly what she was talking about. “We’re celebrating tonight. Anywhere you want to go. How does San Francisco sound?”

  “We can’t tonight. You have that late m
eeting, remember?”

  “I’ll cancel.”

  “No, you won’t. We’ll go out tomorrow.” She giggled like a schoolgirl and swung her legs up onto Talia’s desk. Bless her, she’d gone down to the lobby sundry store supposedly for a pack of gum. Madison knew better, and appreciated the privacy. “I still can’t believe it.”

  “Why not? You’re very good…wouldn’t believe it when I told you, though.” He paused. “Did they say which picture they’re using?”

  “Nope. And I didn’t ask.” She laughed. “I should have, I suppose. I was too shocked. Anyway, guess I’ll find out later this afternoon. I have a meeting with the head honcho.” She paused for dramatic effect. “To discuss my new staff position.”

  The silence lasted too long.

  “Jack?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Sorry, did I catch you at a busy time?”

  “No, I, um…” He sighed into the phone. “Frankly, I was hoping you were giving some thought to my proposition.”

  She shrank at his softly spoken words. “Jack, you don’t seriously think they’ll let you go.”

  “They won’t have a choice if they don’t meet my terms.” He let silence lapse once more. “Weren’t you listening to me?”

  “Of course I was.” She rubbed the residual day’s tension at the back of her neck. This was her big shot. To be on staff at Today’s Man was huge. She couldn’t leave now. He didn’t understand. He’d had his glory. Been at the top. She was just clawing her way up now.

  “I’m being summoned by my secretary,” he said. “Can I call you later?”

  “Sure.”

  “Tell you what. You’re going to be busy. You call me.”

  “Busier than you?” She chuckled at the small absurdity.

  That dreaded silence again. “I’m proud of you, baby,” he whispered before he hung up.

  She sat there, feeling a little deflated. Not that it was his fault. He didn’t understand. At one time he would have, but it’d been so long since he’d had to struggle that he’d forgotten what it was like to have to accept every crumb in the hope that someday someone would screw up and drop a whole biscuit in your lap.