Midnight Hour

by Debra Dixon

  The older woman pushed her chair back from the desk a little bit. “We haven’t had the money to spend on the ER, but Nick tells me you’re going to help us change that.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll even admit to a soft spot for the hospital.” Mercy began to relax now that the conversation was on safer ground. She’d given a lot of thought to Nick’s request and to why her manager had turned down Mercy Hospital. “The only question left is are you willing to do what it’s going to take to get the station’s support?”

  “What do you mean?” Nick asked. “I thought you said the television station’s support wasn’t going to be a problem.”

  “It won’t be. If we’re smart.” Mercy looked first at the sister and then at Nick. “Are you open to suggestions?”

  When they both nodded, she continued. “Let me explain a few things. The only reason the FCC grants television licenses is for the public benefit. That means every station that wants to keep its license had better be doing its part for the community and the public good.”

  “Then why wouldn’t your station manager meet with me about this project?” Nick asked.

  Mercy motioned with her hand to indicate that she was getting there. “I’ve done a little checking and I’ve come up with a couple of reasons. One has to do with me, and the other has to do with the scope of this project.”

  “What have you got to do with this?” Sister interrupted. “There’s no conflict of interest. Your parents aren’t on staff anymore.”

  Mercy bent forward. “It’s nothing like that. I’m in the last year of my three-year contract. Dan, the station manager, found out that a station in Pittsburgh has contacted my agent. Consequently, he’d rather not do anything that might increase my popularity. He’s afraid it would encourage Pittsburgh to make me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “All he has to do is match the offer if he wants to keep you,” Nick countered.

  “He can’t wave a magic wand and make Louisville a bigger television market. That’s what the issue is. Not money, but the opportunities that come when a personality moves to a bigger market. A bigger market means getting noticed by syndicators, and that could mean feeding the show to several markets. Eventually maybe a cable deal.”

  “Right.” Nick nodded and realized he understood Dan’s dilemma. He didn’t much like the idea of Mercy moving away for career advancement either. “You told me this part. Pittsburgh means more exposure.”

  “Exactly.” Mercy pushed her hair away from her face and settled back in her chair.

  “So where does that leave us,” Sister asked.

  “In the driver’s seat.” Mercy grinned. “Dan’s plan was great as long as I didn’t find out about it. But now I know, so it’s going to be a little more difficult to ignore your request.”

  “Okay, so what do we do at this point?” Nick asked.

  “The scope of the project is all wrong. We need to think bigger.”

  “Bigger isn’t better.” Nick shook his head forcefully. “It’s just more trouble. I told you we didn’t want to turn this place into a trauma center. We’re a plain ordinary little hospital. All we want to do is some remodeling.”

  Sister Agatha added, “I agree. We don’t want this getting out of hand.”

  “Don’t get excited,” Mercy advised calmly. “Let me give you a few facts before you shoot this benefit in the foot. You’re planning an event for one thousand people, right?”

  “At a hundred dollars a plate, that’ll give us enough money to get started.” Nick repeated what he’d outlined before.

  “After expenses, all you’ll have is maybe seventy-five thousand dollars,” Mercy told him. “A thousand people is small potatoes to the station, not even one percent of the population in Louisville. To make matters worse, television stations think in terms of households. So take that thousand and divide it in two. That’s five hundred couples.”

  She turned to Sister Aggie. “According to Nick’s plan, he wants the television station to kick in valuable airtime to run the promo, to foot the bill for the production cost of the promo, and he wants the station to let someone host my show for an evening. Do you really think the station’s going to go to all of this trouble to reach five hundred households?”

  Sister argued, “But this will benefit the whole area around the hospital. The patients and their families will be more comfortable. The doctors and nurses will have an easier time doing their jobs.”

  “You can sell a thousand tickets with print ads and radio spots.”

  “But the television angle would bring in more donations,” Nick contended.

  “Sure. But the station’s position is going to be that they could utilize that airtime more effectively and help more people by running PSAs—public-service announcements—on blood pressure, AIDS, fire-safety tips, and a million other topics. Ask yourself this question: How is the station going to do more good? By getting five hundred couples involved in your project, or by using that airtime to alert fifty thousand people to the danger of high blood pressure, the silent killer?”

  When she finished, both Nick and Sister Agatha were frowning and silence hung heavy in the room.

  “I see your point,” the older woman acknowledged. She tilted her head and studied Mercy for a moment before she asked, “I know you, young lady. You’ve got a plan, or you wouldn’t have come here today. Don’t keep us in suspense any longer. What do you suggest?”

  “First we have to bump the attendance.”

  “By how much?” Nick asked.

  “Double it. Make it two thousand people at two hundred dollars a head.” Mercy paused for a moment while she let that sink in. Then she added, “There are a couple of hotels in the city that can handle a function this big.”

  “Big is the key word,” Sister Agatha repeated, and warned Nick, “This whole fund-raiser is your idea. If we go forward with this project, I’ll expect you to handle the monster you’ve created.”

  “You can count on me, Sister. I don’t start something unless I’m willing to go all the way. So you have my word. I am absolutely ready, completely willing, and more than able to do anything necessary.” He sent Mercy a sinful glance as he said, “What I want to know is if I can count on Mercy to do the same?”

  As usual, Nick’s conversation sounded so innocent on the surface, but Mercy’s pulse fluttered as his little speech sank in. Was there no shame in the man? They were sitting in a nun’s office, for Pete’s sake! And he was brazenly putting her on notice that he was going to finish what had been started with that kiss.

  Carefully avoiding his dark eyes, Mercy said, “Sister, you know I’ll do everything I can.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” Nick declared.

  “Before we pat each other on the back, I should warn you that we have to agree on a couple more issues,” Mercy interrupted.

  “There’s more bad news?” Nick asked with a sigh.

  “This event has to be high profile. Fun with a kick. Sedate won’t get it. Not if you intend to appeal to the audience of The Midnight Hour.”

  A ghost of a smile hovered on Sister Agatha’s lips. “I would have thought that an evening with Mercy Malone would be exciting enough for most people.”

  “Works for me,” Nick volunteered in the earthy accent that sent chills up Mercy’s spine.

  She looked toward Nick and narrowed her eyes, daring him to say one more word. He got the message, and she turned back to the sister. “You’d be surprised how fickle the public is. You’re going to have to wine ’em, dine ’em, and dance ’em. I’m not suggesting something … tawdry,” she finished, choosing Dr. Reed’s charming description of her television persona. “But we’ll need a theme. Something that fits my image. Are you okay with that?”

  “I don’t disapprove of you or your show, if that’s what you’re asking,” the nun assured her. “I seem to recall that most of your horror movies revolve around the theme of good versus evil with good always winning in the end. So I think I can safely le
ave that decision to you and Nick once the other details are worked out.”

  “Okay. That brings me to the last change we need to make. Nick said something about a community organization helping us out.”

  “Sister thought we could use all the help we could get,” he explained.

  “She’s right,” Mercy agreed. “I was going to suggest we find a group to support this project, but it seems that Sister Aggie is two steps ahead of me. As usual.” She grinned at her, acknowledging the nun’s sharp mind. “The station does more than enough public service work to satisfy the FCC. So we need that little something extra in our corner. Is this group you’ve scrounged up willing to be an active sponsor? Get in there and get their hands dirty? We could really use someone with benefit experience.”

  “I don’t know about benefit experience. Kentucky Parents for Better Health Care is a relatively new organization, but they’re committed to providing better care for low-income households,” Sister Agatha informed her. “Since most of our client base falls in that group, I gave them a call as soon as Nick brought his idea to me. From what I gathered during the conversation, they’ll be as active as you want.”

  “Great. Now what about the time line?” Mercy asked, turning to Nick. “When did you want to throw this party?”

  “As soon as possible. How long does it take to put something like this together? Six months?”

  “Usually, but that’s too long for me. I’d like to get this over and done with before negotiations on my contract begin.”

  “When’s that?”

  “Probably September.”

  Nick whistled and shot an uncertain look at the nun.

  To nudge them along, Mercy added, “If we can find the right hotel and press hard, could we pull that off?”

  “Middle of August?” The nun and Nick voiced the question in unison. They continued to gaze silently at each other, obviously weighing the pros and cons of rushing the event.

  “I know that’s only about ten weeks, but I’ve got favors with advertising people I can call in,” Mercy promised them. “Once we decide on a theme, we can have the print ads worked up in just a few days. We wouldn’t have to do anything fancy for the television promo. In fact, it would be better if we used my set.”

  Nick shrugged and admitted, “I’ve got the time to put into this project. Nothing else and nobody on my schedule. If Mercy says we can get it done, then I’m willing to try.”

  Smiling, Mercy said, “All right then. It looks like we have a fund-raiser to put together. I’ll set up a meeting with Dan for next Monday afternoon.”

  Mercy heard the rumble of Nick’s Chevelle through the open window of the office she’d converted from a spare bedroom. Although her heart was already skipping beats, it wasn’t until the car door shut that the black Labrador picked up her head and paid attention.

  The engine rumble had meant nothing to her dog, but Witch associated the slamming of car doors with the weekly delivery of videotape from the station. Since the young Zip Transit driver always had an extra minute to scratch her chin, Mercy wasn’t surprised when Witch jumped off the roomy sofa. With a welcoming woof, the dog joyously dashed out of the room and down the stairs.

  Briefly, Mercy considered ignoring the sharp buzz of the doorbell, only to discard the idea. Pulling off a pair of designer tortoiseshell and wire-rim glasses, Mercy sighed and slowly leaned over to place them on a shelving unit full of movie trivia books. Resigned, she reached for the remote control and switched off the VCR machine. Her home office served as more than a place to put a desk and a file cabinet.

  Across from the comfortable sofa placed along one wall was the big-screen TV she used to preview each week’s horror movie as she prepared her monologue and comments for the show. She’d been just about to watch next week’s movie, but work would have to wait until after she’d dealt with Nick’s invasion.

  She hadn’t been alone with Nick since the kiss. Lady Luck had delivered a small reprieve at the end of their meeting. Nick had been paged to Emergency. Before he left the room, his eyes let her know that the reprieve was only temporary and she could expect him to come calling. In fact, she had expected him long before Sunday afternoon.

  The doorbell rang again, sounding more impatient this time, although she knew it was technically impossible for a doorbell to have feelings. As she left the room Mercy placed the remote on top of the television. Witch met her at the landing, thumping her tail against the stair rail and encouraging Mercy to hurry. As the dog raced back down the steps Mercy told her, “Settle down. It’s not who you think it is.”

  Witch didn’t seem to care. To a friendly dog, any visitor was cause for celebration. Uncharitably, Mercy hoped that Nick hated dogs—or at least that dogs hated him. As soon as she opened the door, her hopes were dashed. Nick stood on her porch bouncing a pink neon tennis ball obviously intended as a bribe for Witch. The doctor’s grin advertised the fact that he was quite pleased with himself for remembering that her dog was probably home by now.

  “I suppose you think that’s going to be enough to get you in the door?” Mercy asked as she grabbed the Lab’s collar to stop her bouncing in unison with the tennis ball.

  “Of course not.” Nick caught the ball as it sprang up off the wooden porch and held it, drawing her attention to the flex of his arm muscles as they strained against the sleeve of his black T-shirt. With his other hand, he grasped something draped over his shoulder. Slowly, he pulled a pair of black silk stockings free. “I brought a toy for you too.”

  Only a man as brazenly confident as Nick would arrive on a woman’s doorstep, unannounced and bearing lingerie. Mercy’s mouth dried out, and she had to lick her lips and swallow before she could say anything. When she finally found her voice, she confessed a secret, “Then you wasted your money, because neither Midnight Mercy nor I own a garter belt.”

  “Ah, chère, I was afraid of that. So I bought one of those too. It’s in my back pocket.” He turned slightly as he explained, “I couldn’t carry everything.”

  Dangling from the pocket of his jeans was a thin black elastic strip that he hadn’t quite managed to shove inside with the rest of the belt. The weight of the hanging clasp caused the garter to sway with his movements, hypnotizing her. She closed her eyes, removing the temptation to linger over Nick’s physical attributes, which he made absolutely no attempt to hide.

  His jeans weren’t actually tight, but they were low slung, a soft well-worn blue, hugging places she’d rather not be caught staring at. His T-shirt could be described as a second skin, and she’d be lying to herself if she denied the instant physical attraction she felt for the man.

  Ironically, the garter belt worried her more than the stockings. Never before had a man seen through her so easily. She wasn’t the kind of woman who had drawers of sexy lingerie with which she enticed her lovers. Without saying a word, Nick made it very clear that he wanted her and that he knew Midnight Mercy wasn’t the real Mercy Malone.

  Expelling a heavy breath, she opened her eyes and said, “Damn you. Why can’t you be like other men?”

  “Don’t tell me that men haven’t brought you gifts before?”

  “Oh, sure.” She nodded. “Roses and chocolate. Occasionally Chinese take-out, but never stockings.”

  “Did you ask them in?”

  “No.”

  “Are you gonna ask me in?” Nick bounced the pink ball once more, teasing the Lab.

  “It’s either ask you in, or replace the screen when she charges through it to get that damn ball.”

  “Then I’d have to say I’m glad I’m not like other men.”

  “You are an original,” Mercy allowed as she flipped the screen-door latch and let go of the dog’s collar. Immediately, Witch bumped the door frame with her nose, squeezing through the opening. “If I were you, Nick, I’d throw that ball into the yard or prepare to lose your hand.”

  Instantly, Nick complied, and Witch sailed off the porch, never touching the steps. For the moment
Mercy ignored Nick and watched the fluid motion of her dog as she ran for the rolling tennis ball. At first it looked as if she’d overrun the ball, but in the next second she turned and scooped up the fuzzy pink sphere. Without a wasted motion, she unerringly streaked toward Nick.

  “She wants to play, and since you started it, you finish it. By the way, Witch normally won’t stop until you’ve thrown a ball twenty-five times or so. Have fun,” Mercy suggested as the dog spit the now soggy ball out on Nick’s leather running shoes.

  Without a backward glance, Mercy headed for the kitchen. Witch’s impatient bark sounded behind her a split second before Nick laughed and said, “Go get it!”

  Twenty minutes later she’d made iced tea, cleaned the kitchen, and Nick still hadn’t come inside. Giving up, she went back to the front door. Nick and Witch weren’t in the front yard. Puzzled, Mercy pushed opened the noisy screen and stepped out onto the large, old-fashioned porch.

  “Over here, chère,” Nick instructed from her left.

  He sat in her porch swing, slowly pushing it with one foot as he flicked his gaze over her from top to bottom. Even though only a small portion of stretch leggings extended beyond her oversized T-shirt, Nick still managed to find every curve with his piercing gaze. Since his hands were empty, Mercy could only guess the stockings were safely tucked in the pocket with the garter belt.

  “Why are you still out here?” she asked.

  “Witch and I were too worn-out to walk all the way across your yard to my car and get my tools.”

  He didn’t look worn-out, but he did look a little sad, like someone who’d been examining old memories. Mercy glanced down at Witch, who lay by the railing, contentedly napping, her muzzle propped on top of the tennis ball. She asked, “What do you need tools for?”

  “To fix that screen door. Your dog might be able to sleep through that awful fingernails-on-a-chalkboard noise, but I refuse to listen to the door caterwaul every time I walk through it.”