Crazy Thing Called Love

by Molly O'Keefe

  What do you give a shit about? He could practically hear Hornsby’s voice.

  Nothing, he realized; hadn’t for a long time. And if he was bored and slightly sickened by that fact—well, too bad.

  He was Billy Wilkins and this was what he’d done with his life.

  “Let me get this straight.” Gina, Madelyn’s hair and makeup goddess, met Madelyn’s eyes in the mirror. “You still don’t watch The Bachelor?”

  “Why is this such a big deal to you?” Madelyn asked, distracted by Gina’s half a bagel sitting on her dressing table. She was trying to prep for the show, but that bagel … it had lox on it. Salty lox on top of fatty cream cheese on top of a carby pumpernickel bagel. A trifecta of things she tried to pretend didn’t exist.

  “Because it’s the best show ever?” With a little too much enthusiasm, Gina combed the ends of Madelyn’s hair so that they rested flat and silky over her shoulders like obedient eels.

  Beauty was painful, and Gina carried the whip.

  Madelyn picked up her script, blocking the lox from sight. “Marriage isn’t entertainment.”

  Gina blinked. “You got a point there.”

  “Ladies, can we focus?” Ruth, AM Dallas’s associate producer, sat curled up like a comma in the white chair in the corner. Behind her thick black glasses, her equally black eyes glittered. It kept with her whole monochromatic black-on-black look. Ruth had aspirations for New York and she practiced by dressing the part. “We’ve got changes to the script in between the Decluttering Your Junk Drawer segment and the one with Pierre, Cutting Your Own Bangs.”

  “Got it.” Madelyn flipped past the change she’d read an hour ago. She liked to work as if every college professor who had ever doubted her journalism skills while staring at her chest was looking over her shoulder. It made her very, very good at her job.

  Well, that and Ruth. She and Ruth had pulled AM Dallas out of the ratings basement, where it had been living under Phil Montgomery’s care for years. In some ways they were like two polar opposite peas in a pod.

  Very single, very limited social lives, very focused type-A personalities. They were a match made in a.m. television heaven.

  “We’ve replaced the—”

  “Section on sexual health with that stupid thing about gluten-free cheese?” The script rustled when she smacked it down in her lap. “All cheese is gluten-free. Always has been. What are we doing here, Ruth?”

  Madelyn had worked hard, and in her game plan, AM Dallas was her last stepping stone to the network. To the Today show. And because that was her goal, there was a bar she was straining to hold herself and this show to. And even if she’d said it a million times, it bore repeating:

  “Matt Lauer wouldn’t do it.”

  Gina groaned. Ruth rolled her eyes. “What would Matt Lauer do? Really?”

  “We want network jobs, we need network stories.”

  “They can’t all be Day Care Fraud.” Ruth arched a black eyebrow at Madelyn, reminding her of last month’s fantastic success.

  “I know,” she agreed, both proud and sad of that fact. “But shouldn’t we be trying?” Ruth didn’t say anything and Madelyn regretted her outburst.

  Richard, the station manager, liked to remind her that they hadn’t hired her to be a journalist. They weren’t changing the world on AM Dallas, they were informing it.

  AM Dallas needed her to be the trusted, knowledgeable, well-dressed, and skinny best friend every woman in Dallas wanted to have. She didn’t have opinions, or outrage or passion.

  She smiled and told people about the delicious wonder that was gluten-free cheese.

  Madelyn waited for Ruth to get up and leave, or to start barking orders into her headset. But she sat still. A little black cloud in Maddy’s modern white dressing room. And that was odd. Ruth wasn’t a lingerer. Which meant something was cooking under that black hair.

  “I have an idea.” Ruth pulled a newspaper from the bottom of the stack of papers in her lap. “Something Matt Lauer probably would do.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “But it’s tricky.”

  “That’s why they pay you the big bucks,” Madelyn said. No one laughed at her joke—no one ever laughed at her jokes.

  “They pay you the big bucks to fit into that Calvin Klein dress,” Gina whispered, and Madelyn scowled at the hateful woman.

  “What do they pay you for?” she asked Gina.

  “Well, originally I was supposed to keep you skinny, but that’s not working out so well, is it?”

  “You’re fired. Go tease someone else’s hair.”

  Ruth snapped open the newspaper, the sound as effective as a whistle, and Madelyn and Gina shut up, watching as she folded the paper and flipped it around to show them the picture on the front page.

  Madelyn’s heart climbed into her throat and stuck there.

  “Lord Almighty, that man is ugly,” Gina said. “All the way ugly, too. You can see it in his eyes. That man is mean.” Gina pointed a teasing comb over Madelyn’s shoulder toward Billy Wilkins’ bloody face on the front page of the sports section.

  Yes, Madelyn thought, a chill settling into her bones. Yes, he is mean.

  “Well, he’s also the biggest news in sports right now. He caused a huge fight after last night’s game against Boston.” Ruth put the paper down in her lap. “He’s a total Neanderthal. Unrepentant, too.”

  I have nothing to be sorry for, baby. This is hockey. You knew who I was when we got together.

  “Madelyn?” Ruth said and Madelyn realized she was staring at her hands, her head in the past.

  “Why are you bringing him up? Sports stories don’t work on our demographic unless they’re for kids,” she said, pleased her voice was calm and solid, when inside she felt like quicksand. “You want him to talk about helmet safety?”

  The idea was ludicrous and at least Gina laughed.

  “You’re hired again,” Madelyn whispered and Gina patted her shoulder.

  Ruth leaned forward in her chair, her eyes shining. “I don’t want to do a sports story. I want to do a makeover story.”

  There was silence for a moment, the minute hand on the clock over the dressing table clicked backward and thundered forward. And then, thank God, Gina howled with laughter, bracing herself against Madelyn’s shoulder.

  “On that man?” she said. “It’s going to take more than hair and makeup to fix up that mess.”

  “That’s my idea.” Ruth stood, paced to the rack of clothes lining the far wall and then back again, stopping in front of Madelyn like she was proposing the cure for cancer. “Let’s do clothes and etiquette, table manners, maybe even anger management stuff. We could do cooking classes. The idea is to take this total piece of coal and turn him into a diamond.”

  “We can’t,” Madelyn said.

  “Well, it might not work, but even that would be good television,” Ruth said, misinterpreting Madelyn’s words. “Could you imagine that man making cookies? It would be classic—”

  “No.” Madelyn stood up, practically towering over Ruth and Gina. Her dressing room was small and with the three of them standing, it seemed even smaller. Claustrophobic, almost. Or maybe it was the idea of Billy being on her show that was making it hard to breathe. “I mean, we can’t do it. Our audience—”

  “Will love it!” Ruth cried, and much to Madelyn’s horror, Gina was nodding along. “This is a good story, Madelyn, and you know it. Phil would green light it—”

  “No.” Madelyn pulled off the tissue paper collar that was protecting her clothes from powder and hairspray residue. She shoved her feet into the red heels wardrobe had picked out to go with the gray pencil skirt, lace patterned stockings, and black gauzy blouse she was wearing today. The naughty-librarian look tested well with women. Go figure. “I don’t like it.”

  Ruth blinked at her. “Why?”

  Oh, for so many reasons, which would never see the light of day. “Because I bet he’s terrible on camera. We’ve all seen post-game in
terviews with these guys. They’re like …” She lifted her hands, pantomimed the robot dance. “Cyborgs or something. Totally lifeless. And I’m not spending the energy it would require to make him interesting for a fifteen minute segment.”

  “I was thinking a series. Once a week for a month.”

  A month of Billy? Not happening.

  “A month? That’s insane.”

  Ruth and Gina shared a look that Madelyn ignored. She never played the prima donna. Ever. This was a first for all of them.

  “And frankly,” she said, lifting the paper, turning the picture up and holding it out at them so she wouldn’t have to look at it. “This is not a face made for television. You want to make over a jock, great, get one of those pretty basketball players. But this,” she shook the paper, “is a bad idea.”

  Ruth sniffed and pulled her shoulders back, the picture of slighted pride, and Madelyn didn’t have the luxury of feeling bad for pooping all over her idea. Because the alternative might put her right back in Billy Wilkins’ orbit.

  “I won’t do it, Ruth.”

  “Fine.” Ruth grabbed the paper and gathered her work from the corner of the dressing table where she’d left it. “Be on set in fifteen minutes.”

  She left, turning down the hallway toward the AM Dallas set, where the live studio audience was filing in.

  “What is wrong with you this morning?” Gina asked, folding her arms over her giant shelf of a chest. At times like this Gina was every disapproving Italian momma in the world, and she was a hard wall to walk into. “It’s a good idea.”

  “No,” Madelyn said, leaning over to apply her own lipstick, which pissed Gina off to no end. “It was a terrible idea. Trust me.”

  At six-thirty Monday, Madelyn walked into the morning meeting, fresh from her three-mile run. Her legs felt wobbly in her boots, but she’d been religious with her diet this weekend. And wardrobe wasn’t going to be looking sideways at her any longer about fitting into that Calvin Klein dress for the spring promos they were shooting next week.

  She had also brought donuts.

  A peace offering to Ruth. Not that Ruth would eat them. As far as Madelyn knew, Ruth didn’t eat anything but coffee and air. But donuts woke the staff up during the morning meeting and that made Ruth happy.

  It was the first morning meeting of the month, so Phil Montgomery was sitting in. Wearing a Snoopy T-shirt. Snoopy, on a full grown man. An executive producer, no less. It went past ironic and into ridiculous.

  And it was getting pretty obvious around the office that he was sleeping with Sabine, one of the segment producers. It made sense for Phil—Sabine was young and beautiful. But if Sabine thought sleeping with Phil would further her career, she had picked the wrong producer.

  Light-headed from her run and high on the smell of donuts, Madelyn smiled at the idea of Sabine trying to seduce Ruth to further her career.

  Hey, baby, I thought you might like to look at this New York Times piece about online advertising budgets. Oh, and I brought you some coffee and air.

  “What’s so funny?” Sabine asked, walking in behind her.

  “Nothing. Sorry.”

  Both Sabine and Phil could get fired for sleeping together. Which seemed like a pretty risky move for Phil, who had two adultish daughters and an ex-wife who had taken him to the cleaners.

  Maddy had often wondered how Phil managed to keep his job, but then she remembered the guy could maintain a budget like no other producer she’d ever worked with. Even the ones in public broadcasting.

  And he was great with the crew.

  Way better than Ruth. Every time Ruth had to deal with the unions there was talk of a strike and Phil, with his dumb T-shirts and shit-eating grin, would be sent in to smooth things over.

  Where Phil did not shine was at Monday morning meetings. Every idea that she and Ruth had to carefully talk him out of was deeply tabloid in nature.

  Phil liked the chair-throwing shows. And that was a problem. But usually Ruth could handle him, getting him to support her. Because if the two of them voted yes, the story idea got passed.

  So the two producers made a strange yin and yang. Ruth was the brains, Phil was the … hypoglycemic kid hopped up on Coca-Cola.

  “Morning, all,” Madelyn said, sliding the dozen assorted into the center of the table, where the staff fell upon them like wolverines. “Good weekend?”

  She vaguely listened as Sabine talked about the new club downtown. She had a hickey peeking up over the edge of the turtleneck she was wearing in an attempt to hide it.

  You are a grown woman, Madelyn thought, embarrassed for her. Embarrassed because she knew Phil had given her that hickey. The two of them ignored each other with such force that they might as well throw off their clothes and have at it on the conference table.

  Maybe you wouldn’t get all nunlike at the sight of hickeys if you actually had some sex, she thought. But that wasn’t going to happen unless on one of her early morning runs she stumbled onto a man and his penis entered her vagina in some freak accident.

  Phil mentioned the new restaurant he’d tried. He said “filet mignon” like he wanted to personally wound her. But that might just be the diet talking.

  “How about you?” Sabine asked and Madelyn made up a lie about a baby shower. These guys didn’t want to hear about a weekend spent running and calculating the calories in croutons.

  Slipping into her usual spot in the corner, she kept her eyes on Ruth, who was making notes on the forms in front of her.

  Madelyn felt bad about the smackdown last week.

  They were a team. Friends. She shouldn’t have snapped like that.

  “Our ratings are soft,” Ruth said. “We’re getting some pressure from advertisers to bring them back up, so we need big ideas, right now.”

  Pressure from advertisers made everyone sit up a little straighter and Madelyn took out the list she’d made while on her recumbent bike last night.

  “Let’s do a spring garden makeover giveaway,” she said. Makeovers were huge ratings hits, as were giveaways. “We’ll get viewers to send in videos and then we’ll take the worst of the lot and totally revamp their backyard.”

  “Some of our advertisers will like that,” Ruth said. “What else?”

  Other ideas flew around. Madelyn was relieved when the idea of her going to Comic-Con in an Ork costume was shot down. She didn’t even know what an Ork was and had no desire to dress up like one.

  “I have an idea,” Phil said and the room went silent.

  Uh-oh, Madelyn thought, preparing to talk him out of midgets.

  But then Phil opened his mouth and mentioned the words four-part series, Billy Wilkins, and makeover. All in the same sentence.

  As a whole, the room loved it. Sabine clapped her hands like a little girl.

  “I agree,” Ruth said. “Let’s chase it down.”

  Numb with fury and shock, Madelyn turned to Ruth, who decidedly did not meet her eyes.

  An hour later, Madelyn stormed into Ruth’s office, slamming the door so hard behind her it bounced off the casing and rebounded to bump her in the ass.

  “What’s the big idea, Ruth?” she demanded.

  Ruth feigned innocence, but Madelyn wasn’t having it and she glared at the other woman until she broke.

  “Shut the door,” Ruth murmured and Madelyn slapped the door away from her butt.

  “It’s a good idea,” Ruth said, “and you know it.” She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her thin chest. “You and I have not been shy about our plans for moving up into network.”

  “Right. But I thought we were working together.”

  “So did I. We both know this is a big story. A national story. A story that will get us noticed if we do it right.”

  Oh, God, Ruth was so right. Every word she said was totally right.

  “Not if he’s awful.”

  “He won’t be,” Ruth said. “You’re too good at your job for him to be awful.”

  Ruth wa
sn’t kissing ass. She’d always been totally up front about why she was hitching her wagon to Madelyn’s star, and the two of them had served each other well.

  “I said no.”

  Ruth stood up, stretching her hands out. Supplication looked so fake on her, Madelyn nearly rolled her eyes. “Tell me why. Give me one good reason to throw away an idea like this and I’ll do it. If it’s that big of a deal, I’ll do it. But so far, your reasons don’t hold water.”

  He broke my heart. He devastated me. He’s my past. He’s every single skeleton in my closet.

  But she couldn’t say those things. She’d gone to incredible, drastic lengths to leave the old her behind. Changing her name was the least of it. And there was no way she was going to confide in Ruth that she’d been a doormat to a professional thug.

  “I said no,” she repeated, and Ruth sat back down. “That should be good enough for you.”

  “It isn’t. But Phil said yes and that is good enough.” Ruth shrugged her shoulders, bony and thin under her black scoop-neck shirt.

  “There’s no chance Billy Wilkins will agree to do this,” Madelyn said, resisting the urge to pace. Ruth’s office was so small she’d probably only get dizzy. But she had a window, while Madelyn had the bigger office and no window. The two of them had rock, paper, scissored for the offices when they were both new.

  Don’t you remember that? she wanted to howl.

  “You might be right,” Ruth said. “But it’s worth a shot.”

  Madelyn bit her tongue, her lip. God, she wanted a bag of chips right now. A big salty bag of potato chips, the kind with ridges. And dip. Oh, yes, sour cream dip like her mom used to make. She wanted a pound of that.

  “I thought we were friends.”

  Ruth seemed confused and Madelyn wondered if maybe she simply had the wrong idea about friendship. She never seemed to get it right. It was as if she thought she had a real banana in her hand and someone always had to point out that it was just a picture of one.